


Oneiric

by mahbecks



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Banter, DLC Spoilers, Drama, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Sex, Explicit Language, F/M, Graphic Violence (canon compliant), Happy Ending, Humor, Major canon divergence, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 149,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahbecks/pseuds/mahbecks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had only meant to help him.</p><p>She hadn't meant to run after him. She hadn't meant to get caught up in the maelstrom that was the aftermath of the Conclave. And she certainly hadn't meant to fall in love with him.</p><p>But she should have known better. Anything involving Garrett Hawke was bound to get complicated, fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Fields

**Author's Note:**

> Oneiric = adj., "of or pertaining to dreams" 
> 
> *
> 
> Hi guys! I'm trying something new this time. Now that all of the DLC for Inquisition has been released, I'm trying my hand at one large story spanning the length of the game. However, I also wanted to write something with more liberty than a standard Inquisition story. As such, this will contain major canon divergence. I hope you like it! I've spent a lot of time planning this story out - I even outlined it! All my information for this story is coming from the Dragon Age Wiki and the World of Thedas books.
> 
> I'm also looking for someone who'd be willing to help beta for me and keep me on track. If anyone would be interested in such a thing :)

There was a man in their fields.

He was riding along at a slow pace, head drooping down onto his chest. Evelyn paused, letting the basket of fruit she’d been gathering drop to her side. What was he doing here, so far from the road? Come to think of it, what was he doing so far out of the city proper? Their village was small, a little hamlet several leagues north of Ostwick. Very few people came this way at all.

She couldn’t place his clothing. It looked to be armor of some sort, a strange combination of steel and leather. A staff was slung across his shoulders. Was he a mage, then? That was odd. The Ostwick mages lived in the Circle; any who didn’t were considered apostates and hunted down by the Templar Order. They liked to say that apostates were dangerous to all who ventured near them, but she didn’t think so. Her mother had taught her better than that.

But not everyone listened to her mother.

Suddenly, the man fell from his horse. Evelyn heard her sharp intake of breath as he hit the ground with a dull thud, dust rising around him in a small cloud. The horse stopped and turned back, as if it was surprised to see its master lying on the ground. He did not get up.

Evelyn abandoned her basket in a panic and ran to him, falling to her knees beside his prone figure. She grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed, rolling him over onto his back with a grunt of effort. His face was pale, a waxy pallor marring his handsome features. She reached for his hand, pushing down a glove to feel for a pulse. A few tense moments passed before she finally breathed a sigh of relief. It was there - a faint, shallow beat thrumming against her questing fingers. But it was too fragile, too timid. She had to help him.

But how did she do that? Did she dare to just leave him there? Would he wake and wander off?

He was too big for her to lift on her own. It had been difficult enough to roll his dead weight over. No, she would need help. She rose to her feet, dusting off her hands. Her family’s farm was the best bet.

She set off a fast pace, running through the vineyards with ease. She wove in and out of the lines of crops, nimbly avoiding the holes she knew lurked there. A few of the other farmers stopped to wave at her as she sped past and several sent her questioning gazes, but she paid them no heed. She was too intent upon her goal.

She finally skidded to a stop in front of her family’s farm. It was the largest in their small village, set apart from the others atop a small hill. Her mother was standing outside, brushing stray leaves away from dirt walkway that led to the door. She looked up as Evelyn put her hands to her knees, panting.

Lila Trevelyan was an intimidating woman. Even dressed in simple, homespun wool with a broom in her hands, she was majestic. She studied her daughter now with curious, dark eyes.

“Ev?” she asked, surprised. She leaned against the broom handle, a generous hip swaying to the side. “Back so soon, sweet thing?”

Evelyn nodded, incapable of speaking at the moment. She gestured back towards the fields, hoping her mother would get the hint.

She didn’t. “Your Father isn’t home yet. Fool man’s convinced those merchants in the city will give him a better deal.” Lila rolled her eyes and pointed to a barrel of water in the corner of the yard. “I’m glad you’re back though - I could use another pair of hands. Wash up.”

“No,” Evelyn said, shaking her head.

Her mother raised an eyebrow at that. “No?” she repeated.

“No, Mother, I can’t,” Evelyn said, finally rising to her full height. “There’s a man in the fields! He collapsed!”

Her mother’s brows furrowed. “A man?”

“He fell right off his horse!”

“Who fell off their horse?”

Evelyn turned to see her older brother, Ewan, approaching. He set down his farming tools as he approached and removed the large hat that kept the sun off his face. Sweat was beading on his darkly tanned skin, and dust clung to his shirt and trousers.

“I don’t know who he is,” she said, eyebrows snapping down in frustration. She didn’t have time for this! That man was out there right now, and she had no way of knowing bad the situation was. She was no healer. “But he’s unconscious. We have to go to him. I think he could be injured.”

“Alright, alright,” Ewan huffed. “Come on, then. Show me where he fell.”

Evelyn led the way back out into the fields, Ewan following her at a steady trot. The man had not awoken. His horse was grazing nearby, looking up at them solemnly as they approached.

“There _is_ a man here!” Ewan said, looking down at the stranger speculatively.

“Did you think I was lying?” Evelyn demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

“Wasn’t sure what to think, honestly,” Ewan admitted. He bent down, taking a closer look at the man.

“What’s wrong with him, do you think?”

He sighed. “Can’t say,” he replied. He placed a hand against the man’s forehead for a moment. “I’d guess a fever though. He’s burning up.” He moved around to hoist the man up, putting his arms under the stranger’s armpits. “Grab his feet, Ev.”

Evelyn hastened to comply, grabbing the man’s boots. He was heavy, her muscles screaming in protest as they moved him to his horse and slung him across the saddle. When they finished, Ewan grabbed the reins. “We’ll take him back with us,” he said. “Mother will know what to do with him.”

It was as good a plan as any.

The walk back to their home was slow; neither of them wanted to jostle the man, uncertain if he had wounds beneath his heavy armor. Evelyn couldn’t help but sneak looks at him as they walked. As concerned as she was for his safety, she was also intrigued. What was he doing here? And who was he?

They had attracted a small following by the time they reached the village. Several people cried out upon seeing the staff on his back; a few others threatened to inform the local Templars. One man even declared that they should leave the man in the dirt and be rid of him. Evelyn bit her tongue to prevent herself from snapping back a harsh retort; the insults made her blood boil. But she wouldn’t be able to do anything to change local opinions on magic. Her mother certainly hadn’t managed to do so, and she’d been living among these people for decades now.

Evelyn helped Ewan get the man off the horse and carry him into the front room of their house. Their mother was waiting, calmly standing by a cot she’d set up near the fireplace. She motioned for them to lie him down. Immediately, she began to remove his armor, setting it in a small pile by his feet.

“Ev, fetch me a kettle, and some tea,” she murmured, bringing a hand up to the man’s forehead. She hissed at his fever, shaking her head. “And Ewan – the door. Quickly, now!”

Evelyn quickly found the iron kettle and the spicy tea that her mother saved for occasions such as these. She filled the kettle with water from the barrel outside and set it over the fire to boil; Ewan closed and bolted the door behind her, moving to draw the curtain over the windows. The room darkened considerably as Evelyn added the mix of spices and herbs to a small linen teabag. The strong scents of ginger and cinnamon wafted up from her fingertips. It was a comforting smell, and Evelyn breathed it in deeply.

She watched as Lila summoned her magic and pressed a hand to the stranger’s forehead. The green glow cast a sickly light over the man’s face, and he jerked once as if he were in pain. “Is he alright?” she asked.

“Shh!” Lila shushed her.

Evelyn scowled, but did as she was told. Lila ran her hand down the man’s frame then, searching for injuries that she couldn’t see. She took her time, being careful not to wake him.

When the water began to boil, Evelyn retrieved a mug from the kitchen and filled it. She placed the tea bag inside and set it upon the mantelpiece, allowing it to steep.

Lila sat back on her haunches then, wiping a hand across her brow. “Well,” she said softly. “I have done what I can.”

“Was he badly injured?” Evelyn asked. “Will he be alright?”

“So many questions,” Lila chuckled. She held out a hand and Ewan rushed forward to help her to her feet. She sagged against him gratefully for a moment. Evelyn felt a surge of guilt spike through her then. Lila’s strength was fading as she aged; some disease of the heart, she’d said. She rarely used her magic anymore, only in cases where she deemed it necessary. Even simple spells tired her greatly.

“He will be fine,” Lila continued. “He fell from exhaustion, driven to fever by fatigue. I healed the few minor scrapes and bruises I could find, but he is not wounded. Ewan, help me to my chair.”

“Do you need some tea?”

“Yes, that would be nice.”

Evelyn quickly prepared a second cup of tea and replaced the one on the mantel. Her mother’s hands were trembling as she accepted the warm mug, and her guilt intensified. It must have shown on her face, for her mother tutted at her reproachfully.

“He needed the healing,” Lila said firmly. She took a sip of tea, savoring it in her mouth for a moment before she spoke again. “It was good of you to bring him to me.” She held up a finger as Evelyn opened her mouth to protest. “Ah! Not another word, Ev. I’m not _that_ fragile just yet.” She motioned to the kitchen. “Fetch some stew vegetables, sweet, and began paring them. My hands won’t let me work with a knife just yet.”

Evelyn forced the guilt away as she walked to the kitchen and started gathering up carrots, onions, and potatoes from their stores. She didn’t agree with her mother’s assessment, and now that she knew the man was just _tired_ and not truly injured… she cursed her misjudgment.

Returning to the main room, she sat down heavily on a stool, placing the vegetables down beside her and the stew pot between her legs. Her knife was already between her fingers, and she grabbed the first potato irritably, peeling it deftly.

Ewan knelt down beside the man, studying him. “I wonder who he is,” he said quietly.

“It does not matter who he is, or what he has or has not done,” Lila replied. “The staff is all they will see.”

“We won’t let them have him,” Ewan said fiercely.

“Of course not,” Lila agreed. “But he will have to leave soon, just the same. They will go to the Templars eventually.”

Ewan grumbled something that Evelyn didn’t quite catch. It was probably rather rude; but she was rather inclined to agree. Having finished peeling and cutting the potato, she reached for another. “I should stable his horse,” her brother continued, rising to his feet and heading for the door. “Wouldn’t want someone to steal it.”

He returned a few moments later, a dark look on his face and a wet splotch on his cheek, accompanied by the sickly sweet smell of rotting fruit. “What happened to you?” Evelyn demanded.

“Some bastard threw it at me when my back was turned,” he replied. “I think it was a tomato.” He peeled his shirt off in disgust, dropping the soiled garment to the floor. He made for the small ewer of water in the kitchen, washing his face.

Lila shook her head darkly. “Our guest may have to leave sooner than I thought,” she murmured.

“It’s getting bad,” Evelyn observed.

That was perhaps an understatement. The war between the mages and the Templars had been a long time in coming, and it was only getting worse. She’d gotten bits and snippets of information from her father, gleaned from his occasional visits to the city. It was never good news. They were lucky their village had been relatively untouched by the fighting, but other places weren’t so fortunate. The latest reports suggested that even Divine Justinia was starting to get involved, calling for a Conclave to settle the dispute.

Evelyn wasn’t sure that would do much to solve anything.

“It has always been bad here,” Lila said suddenly.

Evelyn looked up just as her mother pushed herself to her feet, adjusting her shawl around her shoulders. She smiled at her daughter. “Men do not understand magic. And they have always feared what they do not understand.”

Evelyn smiled back. “But we are not them.”

“No,” Lila agreed. “No, we are not. And we know better.”

Together, they finished preparing the stew and set it over the fire. They did not speak as they worked, enjoying the comfortable silence that settled over them. Darkness fell early, accompanied by a heavy rain, and Lila lit candles as Evelyn stirred the stew. It was warm by the fire, and she found herself pushing up her shirtsleeves as she worked.

Every now and then, her eyes would drift to the stranger. He was sleeping peacefully now, an arm casually thrown across his stomach, chest gently rising and falling with his breathing.

Once again, she was struck by how handsome he was. A mop of shaggy dark brown, almost black, hair crowned his face, an equally dark beard surrounding a full, sensual mouth. His nose was straight and sharp, his square jaw strong. It was difficult to place his age, so she didn’t try.

Who was he?

The door to their house banged open then, and Evelyn jolted upright. She relaxed when she saw that it was her father, dripping wet and scowling. Adrian Trevelyan irritably pushed a hand through his graying curls. “Maker take them all!” he cursed, stomping out of his boots.

“What is it?” Lila asked, setting a stack of bowls on the table.

“Damn village’s in an uproar,” Adrian snapped. He shrugged out of his cloak and hung it up. He nodded to the stranger by the fire. “I suppose this is all about _him_ , yes?” He walked over to the cot, looking down at the man with guarded eyes. “Do we know who he is?”

“He’s not yet woken,” Lila replied. She resumed setting the table.

“And who found him?” Adrian asked. He looked to Evelyn. “Was it you, Ev?” She nodded. He sighed then and dropped to his feet. “They’re calling for us to throw him out. Andraste’s tits! Me! Throw out an injured mage simply for being a mage?” He shook his head, snorting.

“They’re stupid,” Evelyn said bluntly, earning a sharp laugh from her father.

“They are afraid,” Lila said reproachfully.

Evelyn’s grin slipped a bit at her mother’s words.

She had never understood how Lila could be calm about a group of people who hated her so. Oh, they were quick to come to Lila when a child broke their arm, or when a woman was ready to birth a child. They were quick to come to her when they needed something. But how easily they forgot that aid once they were well; then they walked on the opposite side of the path, refused to meet her gaze, threatened to report them to the Templars.

She was eternally grateful that her parents had never told anyone that she too possessed the gift of magic. It was a stigma she’d never had to bear.

“We’ll see him off in the morning, before dawn,” Adrian decided, rising to his feet. “He is able to ride, yes?”

“He will be,” Lila replied.

Evelyn found the thought of the man leaving oddly sad. She didn’t even know his name.

The stranger slept through dinner and the subsequent cleaning of dishes. He slept through Adrian and Ewan’s nightly discussion of the farm. He even slept through the dog’s whining pleas to be let inside and out of the rain.

Her parents retired early that night, leaving Evelyn alone with the stranger as she read by the light of the fire. Ewan had left several hours before, likely to see his lady friend. She knew he had one; he refused to talk to her about it, but he pointedly looked away every time she mentioned it. She teased him relentlessly as a result, but he’d remained strong, keeping his love's identity hidden.

She smiled at the thought. It was rather romantic - Ewan sneaking about to see his lady love, returning early in the morning before their parents woke. He was always happier the days after he saw her, smiling at nothing, whistling to himself as he worked.

She was a little jealous too, if truth be told. She'd never let herself get too close to any of the young men in their village, keeping them at a distance, cutting things off before they progressed too far. Relationships evoked strong emotions, and strong emotions could be dangerous for mages – especially mages in hiding. It was safer to go without, at least while the war was ongoing. Perhaps afterwards…

A low groan snapped her from her thoughts, eyes darting to the stranger.

He was frowning, a hand rising to rub at his face. Evelyn set her book aside quietly, moving forward to perch on the edge of her seat. She was excited, though she couldn’t say why. She was eager to hear this man’s story.

His eyes opened then, and he stared up at the ceiling for a few moments as he gathered his bearings. He pushed himself up on one elbow then, looking around in confusion. When his eyes finally settled on Evelyn, she felt her stomach jolt nervously. They were a rich brown, warm and inviting.

“You aren’t Varric.”

She blinked in surprise. “What?” The word came tumbling from her lips before she registered that she’d spoken. “Who’s Varric?”

The man ignored her question, pushing himself into a sitting position. It was only then that he noticed he wasn’t wearing his armor. He looked around, bewildered, and then finally back to her. “I suppose I should ask what happened,” he said. His voice was warm, of middling range for a man’s. It was pleasant to listen to, she thought.

“You fell off your horse,” Evelyn replied. “Out in the fields.” His gaze remained blank, so she sighed and continued. “You were riding your horse through our fields, and you fell off. I saw you fall, and went to try and help, but you were unconscious. My brother helped me get you back here.”

He nodded, accepting the story. “Then I thank you,” he said. He paused, looking around the farmhouse again. “And where exactly is this, Miss…?” He waited for her to supply him with a name.

“Evelyn,” she breathed.

“Evelyn.” He repeated her name, as if testing it out. “Evelyn. Where am I, Evelyn?”

“A small village several leagues north of Ostwick.”

“Ostwick?” He sounded surprised. “Last I remember, I was riding past Hercinia! Hmm.” He chuckled to himself. “Carver will never let me live this down. I’ve never been a good rider, but falling off a horse? Just my luck. Which is to say, pretty shitty.” He grinned at her, and she found herself smiling back.

“Are you heading somewhere in particular?” she asked.

“South.”

“What’s in the south?”

“Trees, dirt, a good bit of water,” he replied flippantly. “They also have terrible winters there.” His stomach growled then and he chuckled sheepishly. “You, uh… wouldn’t happen to have anything to eat, would you?”

She cursed inwardly at her thoughtlessness. Of course he was hungry! He’d been asleep for hours! She jumped to her feet, book dropping out of her lap heedlessly. She flushed, embarrassed, and quickly picked it up, setting it on the chair. In her haste, she knocked her toes against the leg, muttering a string of curses as she proceeded to the kitchen. The man was gracious enough not to say anything.

She handed a chunk of bread to him before ladling some leftover stew into a bowl. He accepted the food eagerly, not even waiting for a spoon. His haste gave her pause; perhaps her earlier estimate had been wrong - he acted like a man who hadn’t eaten in _days_.

He noticed her staring. “Ah, sorry,” he mumbled, swallowing a bite of bread. “I haven’t been eating much lately.”

“In a hurry?” she guessed.

“Yes.”

Again, his answer was brief and succinct. She frowned; was he being deliberately difficult, or did he not want to reveal what he was doing? The thought made her uncomfortable. What if he was some sort of criminal? Perhaps he’d stolen the horse and ridden hard to get away from the scene of a crime.

 _Don’t jump to conclusions_ , she scolded herself.

“I’m looking for a friend.” She looked up at him, startled out of her thoughts. He smirked at her. “You looked like you wanted to ask.”

“This… Varric?”

“Mmm,” he nodded, not bothering to stop and talk.

“That name…”

“Sound familiar?” the man asked. She nodded. He snorted into his bowl, shaking his head. “You’ve probably read his books, then. He’s gotten pretty famous in these parts.”

“What has he written?” Evelyn asked.

“Pornography, mostly.” He laughed at her startled expression. “Oh, he wouldn’t call it that. _Highly sensual graphic material_ , as he would say.” He shook his head, fixing her with a stern look. “Don’t believe it for a moment. It’s porn.”

“I… see.”

“I take it from your wide-eyed expression that that’s not something you’ve read?” the stranger asked.

She snorted; her father rarely even bought her educational books. To think that he would waste money on harlequin literature was laughable. “Ah… no.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” he shrugged. “He also has a crime serial – _Hard in Hightown?_  Anything come to mind?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” The man set the bowl aside, finally finished eating. He set his hands in his lap, thinking. His brow contorted, and he opened and closed his mouth several times, as if he were debating whether or not to speak. Finally, he sighed, and looked back to her in resignation. “There’s… one other one. It’s a biography - ” He broke off with an indignant huff. “Well, not really. He’s elaborated so much that it’s more fiction than fact, but there is _some_ amount of truth to it. _The Tale of the Champion?”_

“Oh, yes!”

That one, she’d heard of. She’d not read the entire book; a traveling merchant had had a copy of it in his wares. She’d read a few pages while her father had inspected his goods. It had immediately caught her eye, and she’d begged Adrian to buy it for her, but it had been an expense they could not afford. He’d had to drag her away from the cart.

The man winced. “You’ve read it?”

“Just a few pages. But I have heard of it.”

He let out a breath he’d been holding then, sounding strangely relieved. “Well, yes, that’s his work. I’m going to meet him.”

“In a place so far away?” She assumed it was far; perhaps that was wrong of her.

“Indeed.” He shook his head. “I’ve been riding hard for almost a week now. I started out in Antiva; needed to find a certain merchant who owed me a favor. But when I heard that Varric… well, he’s a habit of getting into trouble. As soon as I heard, I rushed to get away. I… suppose I was pushing myself too hard.”

“Hence falling off your horse,” she said, grinning shyly.

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?” he asked, returning her grin.

She had to look away from the warmth in his eyes. It was unsettling her. She covered the movement with a shrug. “Well, I don’t think I can hide it from all of the people who saw me drag you back here,” she said lightly. “But I won’t give out any more details.”

“Good.” He smiled in earnest now, all traces of humor gone. “I… thank you. For taking me in. Not many people would do that. Especially because…” he trailed off, waving a hand at his staff.

“Because you’re a mage?” she guessed.

“Something like that.”

She shook her head. “You've nothing to fear,” she said lightly. “We're not afraid of mages.”

“Because of your mother?” Evelyn raised an eyebrow at the question, so he continued. “She’s a mage, is she not? Someone healed me – I can sense traces of the magic.” She nodded. “It’s odd though – her magic. It has a different style than what I’m used to. It doesn’t feel the same.”

“She was trained in Rivain,” she replied.

“Was she really?” The man sat forward eagerly. He looked around then. “Is she here? I’d love to hear her talk about her magic.”

“She can’t,” Evelyn said sharply. The man sat back abruptly at her harsh tone. “It’s not that she wouldn’t like to,” she added quickly. “But she’s asleep. She’s... ill. Using magic is difficult for her these days.”

The man nodded. “I see. Of course I don’t want to disturb her.”

The conversation lapsed then. Evelyn waited patiently for him to say something, but the stranger was staring intently into the fire. He was clearly thinking hard, brows dark over pensive eyes.

She should leave him be. He was likely still tired, and he would be leaving come first light. She hadn’t mentioned her father’s plan to the man, but she got the impression that he would be leaving soon regardless. He seemed eager to be on his way. She rose to her feet, and his eyes snapped back to her.

“There’s more bread in the kitchen, if you’re still hungry,” she said. “And there’s fresh water in the barrel outside the door. Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you though.” He smiled at her. “I think I’ll just try to get some sleep, rest up for the morning.”

She nodded and bid him good night before walking past him and up the stairs. She retreated into her room, moving around slowly in the dark as she changed into a nightgown. She grabbed her brush and worked it through her short hair a few times before settling into bed and attempting to sleep.  
But she wasn’t tired.

She closed her eyes and tried to count her breaths. She tried to empty her mind of all thoughts. Nothing worked. Her mind was restless, kept awake by her curiosity about the stranger. Where was he going in the south? Why was he looking for his friend? Shouldn’t he know where his friends were? She rolled over onto her side irritably. It shouldn’t have intrigued her so; what he did was his business, and his alone.

He hadn’t even told her his name.

She huffed and sat up, throwing her blankets off her small body. She grabbed a candle off her nightstand and lit it with a snap of her fingers before turning to scour the room for her book. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well find something useful to do with her time. She scowled when she didn’t see the book in any of the usual places. Where could it be? It wasn’t as if it had grown legs and walked off!

She smacked a hand to her forehead when she remembered – she’d taken it downstairs to read. She had probably left it there.

Muttering angrily to herself, she crept back down the stairs, moving quietly so that she didn’t wake the stranger. She tiptoed across the wooden floorboards, peering around the wall to see if he was awake.

Evelyn straightened with a jerk when she saw that he was nowhere to be found. Abandoning all pretenses to stealth, she ran the rest of the way into the room. The cot was empty, and the man’s armor gone.

He’d up and left.

And he hadn’t even said farewell.

She rushed to the barn then, the cool night air chilling her skin through her thin nightgown. The door was slightly ajar, as if someone had jimmied it open, and a light burned from within. She pushed into the building, hoping that perhaps she’d caught him before he left.

There was no one to be seen. A lone candle sat in the middle of the barn, providing just enough light to see by. She took a few cautious steps forward, watching the candle intently. It hadn’t melted much; he’d left recently then.

A sudden gust of wind blew the candle out, leaving her in darkness. A horse whickered softly in response, stomping its foot into the hay. Evelyn walked over to it, reaching out to pat its nose. It leaned out to meet her, butting her hand gently, and she smiled. She had always liked horses – they could be such kind, gentle animals, full of grace and power and strength. She’d always wanted one of her own. Some day she hoped to have one. For now, they only had two – her father’s horse, Charger, and an old draft horse named Steady.

The one beneath her hand, relishing her attention, was Charger – a fierce, proud animal who loved competition and refused to be second. She was surprised he was being so calm tonight; normally, he was quite mischievous.

Suddenly, she froze.

Her hand jerked to the side and she chanced a bit of fire to see. The horse shied away from the flames in her hand, an uncomfortable noise coming from its mouth. She let the fire die out to set the creature at ease; she had seen what she needed to see.

This was _not_ Charger.

Charger was chestnut, with a mane that almost matched his coat. This horse had a dark brown mane, and a star on its forehead where Charger had a blaze. She cursed, running back towards the house. How had she missed it before?

There was only one explanation. The stranger had left in the middle of the night, and he’d taken her father’s horse, sensing that Charger was the faster, stronger animal. It was the only thing that made sense. She scowled at the thought. She knew it! She’d known he was a crook! She’d been right to be suspicious of him, and he’d drawn her in with his charm and good looks, dammit!

She had to get Charger back.

She rushed up to her room and quickly changed back into her clothes. She slipped a knife into her boot, just in case, and headed back to the barn. She hoped that it wouldn’t come to that; she’d never been more than a passing hand at fighting.

But she refused to let this thief steal her father’s horse. He needed that for travel! She hadn't the time to wake her family; she would have to explain everything, and the stranger already had a head start on her. If she waited until morning, it would be too late. The stranger would be _leagues_ away by then.

There was nothing for it. 

She yanked open the stall door and led the stranger's horse out into the open, reaching for a set of reins with her spare hand. 

She would have to go after him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for more updates and snippets (and random pictures of pugs) = mahbecks.tumblr.com :)


	2. Renegade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke regrets stealing from his rescuers, while Evelyn tracks him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big shout-out to my pal, bushviper, who's beta-ing this for me! She's amazing - if you haven't read her stuff yet, go check it out. She is a QUEEN <3 
> 
> The chapter title is taken from the song "Renegade" by Styx. That has and always will be my theme song for Hawke :)

Hawke had never considered himself a thief.

He wasn’t – not really. Oh, he’d nicked a few things from people here and there, and he’d certainly… borrowed things without permission. But he wasn’t a thief. That was more Isabela’s style. Whenever he had taken something that wasn’t his, it was for good reason. Perhaps the item he’d taken had been stolen from someone else in turn, and he was simply returning it to its rightful owner. Or maybe he was giving food to people who needed it more than the plump merchants selling it.

That wasn’t really thievery, was it?

This time, however, he wasn’t sure that he could rationalize his actions. Stealing a farmer’s horse in the middle of the night? He shook his head, angry that he’d been forced into doing this. He _had_ to get to Varric; there was no other option.

When he’d heard that his friend had been captured, he’d been livid. Furious, even. He’d walked back to their makeshift camp in a cool rage, his anger barely contained. And then he’d nearly fractured the bones in his hand when he’d punched a tree in rage, trying to find some outlet for his anger. Anders had had to heal it for him, making disparaging comments all the while about his recklessness. Hawke had ignored the mage. He didn’t understand. No one had; he’d explained it to all of them as he’d ran to get his horse, and all of them had told him to slow down, think it out, make a plan.

But he couldn’t. There wasn’t _time_.

This was all his fault. And he was the only one who could fix things.

Hawke urged the horse on faster, desperate to get to the main road. Maker only knew how many hours he’d lost in his unconsciousness. _Dammit_. He should have been more careful. He knew better. He’d spent far too much time traveling, much of it in haste, to make such an amateurish mistake. He was lucky his horse hadn’t keeled over in exhaustion as well.

That was largely the reason he’d taken this animal. It had been in much better condition, and it was taller and stronger as well. If it got him to Varric faster, the theft was worth it. And it wasn’t as if he’d left them empty-handed - he’d left his first horse behind. Hopefully, they could use it until he was able to return and apologize. Preferably with a suitable replacement for the stallion he'd taken.

The road was ahead. He pulled his mount up as he approached, slowing to a walk. He surveyed the surroundings, cautious of running into people. It was midnight by now, perhaps even later, so he didn’t expect to see many travelers. But he couldn’t afford to be careless now; another time consuming mistake, and Varric could be thrown in jail, or worse.

He didn’t want to think about it.

He was lucky; the area was clear. Still, he avoided the actual road, giving it a wide berth as he followed its path. He urged the horse on, alternating between galloping and walking so as to give the animal proper breaks. The moon flitted across the night sky, edging towards the horizon as the hours wore on. But Hawke wasn’t tired; if anything, he was invigorated, even more driven to reach Kirkwall and the Waking Sea beyond.

Just as the sun began to peek over the horizon, he pulled the horse to a stop. He should find a place to stop for a few hours, give the creature a more extended rest. He looked around, searching for a secluded spot. He was lucky – this part of the Free Marches was still relatively forested, trees far enough away from the road to offer some shelter. He made for a small copse, the entrance hidden by several boulders.

It was a lucky find.

Hawke dismounted then, tying the stallion's reins to a nearby tree branch before removing the saddle. He patted the animal on the side, and it shot him a warning look, huffing through its teeth. Hawke snorted. “Alright, alright,” he said, holding a hand up. “I won’t bother you.” It shook its head.

“You don’t like me,” Hawke murmured, gathering some dead branches for a fire. The stallion eyed him as he moved. “I get that. I _am_ a total stranger. But we’ve still got a long way to go, you and I.” He pointed a stick at the horse reproachfully. “It’ll be easier if you just accept that fact.”

The animal reached out and bit the stick in his hand, snapping in neatly in two. Hawke jumped back, startled, ignoring the creature’s triumphant whinny. He scowled; was it… _mocking_ him? “You’d best be nice,” he snapped, gathering his bundle of wood more closely to his body. “Or I’ll see you gelded when we get to Kirkwall.”

This time, the stallion ignored him.

He set about making a small fire, adding small sticks until it was a sizeable blaze. Satisfied that it wasn’t going to die out anytime soon, he banked it and laid out his bedroll a few feet away. He set his saddlebags at the head as a sort of makeshift pillow. Out of these, he pulled a chunk of bread that he’d nabbed from Evelyn’s kitchen.

That wasn’t stealing. She’d said to help himself.

He tore off a hunk with his teeth. He regretted leaving in the middle of the night. But it was better that way. Evelyn and her family might have supported mages, but that didn’t mean the rest of their village did. He wasn’t likely to find a welcome there. He snorted at that; he wasn’t likely to find much of a welcome _anywhere_. Not now. He’d had some protection in Kirkwall, but that had been before everything had gone to shit.

No. This was for the best. He would not give the villagers a reason to harm the people who had so kindly taken him in.

*

Evelyn could feel the horse beneath her tiring.

She shook her head in frustration, but eased up on the reins a bit, allowing the animal to slow. It wasn’t the poor beast’s fault; she’d been riding for hours now, and it was likely already tired from the stranger’s flight from Antiva. She was tired as well, her nerves the only thing keeping her awake.

She’d found Charger’s hoof prints leading away from their barn and across the fields. She’d tracked them to the main road that led west to Kirkwall. From there, it had been easy enough to guess his path. She’d chased him throughout the night, not catching a glimpse of him. Now the sun had risen, sending rays of pink and orange light streaming into the sky. If she didn’t find him soon, she’d be forced to give up and turn back.

She gulped nervously. Then she’d have to explain the situation to her father.

Evelyn pushed the thought from her mind. She refused to think of that now. She _would_ find him.

Half an hour later, she was forced to draw her horse to a stop. Its sides were heaving, coat covered in lather. She would not force it to continue in such a state. The creature happily complied, head drooping in weariness. She patted its neck in apology; she would have to remember to give it some treats later, apples perhaps. It deserved an entire bushel for its hard work.

The tracks led on. She slipped from the horse’s back and took it by the reins, leading it as she followed the stranger’s trail. The tracks veered off to the right just ahead. She looked up to see the tree line. He must have gone off the path to rest. Eager that she was closing in, she sped up a little.

She slowed when she heard another horse’s dour nickering. A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. She knew that sound; she’d recognize it anywhere.

Charger.

She bent down and retrieved the knife in her boot, the small blade glittering in the morning light. She hoped that she wouldn’t have to use it, but she was taking no chances. Quick as an arrow, she dashed into the clearing, brushing through a gap in several large boulders. And there he was – her stranger, sitting upon Charger’s back and attempting, unsuccessfully, to get the horse to move. He looked up in surprise at her sudden appearance, opening his mouth to speak.

She didn’t give him the chance.

“You stole my father’s horse!” she accused, brandishing the knife at him.

“I didn’t steal it!”

Evelyn pointed at the horse between his legs accusingly. “Then what’s that between your legs?”

“Well, I was going to save this until we knew each other better, but -”

“Shut up!”

“I didn’t steal your horse,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That is most definitely my father’s horse.”

“I… borrowed it! Without asking!” He sighed then, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Normally, I wouldn’t have done such a thing, but it’s imperative that I get south. Yours was the better horse!”

“So imperative that you stole from a bunch of poor farmers?”

“Yes.”

His blunt answer took her by surprise, as did the serious expression on his handsome face. As she stared at him, he kept looking over his shoulder, as if he were anxious to be on his way. It gave her pause - why was he in such a hurry? What was so imperative that he’d eschewed her family’s hospitality to sneak off in the middle of the night, stealing their most prized animal in the process?

“Why?” she asked, her hand falling to her side. She kept her grip on the knife tight though – just in case.

“Why?” he repeated.

“What’s in the south?” she asked. “And tell the truth this time – don't make some stupid comment on the weather.”

His face softened. “I told you, Evelyn - a very dear friend of mine,” he replied quietly. “He’s… been taken into custody. And I have to get him back.”

“Did he do something wrong?”

The stranger snorted then. “He didn’t do anything wrong,” he muttered. He grimaced then, a pained look in his eyes. “I did.” Sensing that she wasn’t about to let this go, he dismounted, jumping to the side when Charger snapped at him. Evelyn’s lips quirked up at that. He scowled at the animal. “Your horse doesn’t like me.”

“Don’t take it personally,” she suggested. “He doesn’t really like anyone save my father.”

He stopped a few feet away from her, looking down at her speculatively. He was quite a bit taller than her, she realized. Not that that was surprising; most people were taller than her. She’d always been a small, scrawny thing. No one believed that she was as old as she was. It was a stark contrast to her brothers, both of whom were as tall and solid as oak trees.

Was he attempting to intimidate her?

She swallowed thickly, watching as his large arms, corded with muscles, folded across his chest. It was working.

“How did you get here?” he asked.

“I stole your horse,” she replied easily, jerking her head back to the stranger’s horse. It was just now slowly plodding into the clearing.

To her surprise, he laughed. He was still smiling even after his laughter had faded. “Takes a thief to catch a thief,” he replied.

“I thought as much. You were easy enough to follow after that. You didn’t bother to hide your tracks.”

“I didn’t think anyone would catch me,” he admitted, shrugging. “I thought I was being quiet.”

“You were,” she allowed. “I didn’t hear you leave. I just happened to go downstairs and found your cot… empty.”

“I am sorry I took your father’s horse. And that I left without any warning.” To his credit, he sounded genuine. He sighed then. “I didn’t want to cause your family any trouble. I thought it best that I leave before morning.”

“That was Father’s plan,” Evelyn replied.

He nodded. “Sensible,” he agreed.

She paused a moment, steeling herself for her next words. “I’m going to have to take Charger back.” She was proud that her voice didn’t falter.

“Evelyn, I _need_ him-”

“So does my father!” she snapped.

“You don’t understand!”

“Neither do you!” she retorted. “My father goes to Ostwick several times a week to sell our fruit to vintners. He has to have a horse to make the trip so often. We wouldn’t survive otherwise!”

“You can have that one!” the man said, gesturing to his old steed.

“And what do I tell my Father?” she demanded. “‘Sorry Father, our guest ran off in the middle of the night with Charger, and all we got was his old nag?’” She looked back at the gentle mare standing behind her. “No offense,” she muttered.

“I don’t know!” he snapped. He took a half step towards her, and she raised her hand again, pointing the knife at him. His eyes flicked down to it, and he stopped. “I must get to Ferelden,” he said quietly. There was a note of pleading in his voice that hadn’t been there a moment before. “If I don’t, I have no idea what they will do to my friend.”

“That doesn’t mean you can steal from people!”

“You think I don’t know that?” he barked. He stalked off, turning his back to her. “I wouldn’t have done this if I had any other option! I _must_ get to him. I must.” He looked back over his shoulder. “I’m the reason he’s been taken prisoner.”

“You?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What’d you do?”

He turned to face her. “I... may or may not have helped start the mage rebellion.”

The knife fell from her hands, fingers suddenly numb with shock. She stared at him mutely, unable to find words. He didn’t speak either, merely observing as she worked to find her voice.

“ _What?”_

He held out a hand. “Garrett Hawke,” he said, sighing. “Nice to meet you.”

“ _The_ Hawke?” she asked. “The Champion of Kirkwall?” Now his bashful reaction to _The Tale of the Champion_ made sense; she’d wondered why he’d seemed so embarrassed to talk about the book. It was _about_ him, _his_ story.

“Well, there’s more than one of us Hawke’s,” he replied. “We’re not an extinct species just yet.”

“But you’re the one who saved Kirkwall from the Qunari?” she persisted, ignoring his humorous deflection. “The one who defeated the Arishok in single combat?”

“Guilty as charged,” he agreed. “And if I don’t make it to Ferelden soon, Varric’s liable to be branded guilty by association.” He sighed. “I have to leave, Evelyn. I can’t wait any longer.”

“You have already waited too long.”

Evelyn whirled around at the new voice. To her surprise, a small group of people stood at the entrance of the clearing. They wore long, dark robes, hoods covering their faces. She felt her pulse quicken in apprehension, and involuntarily took a step back as the leader held up a long, dark staff.

Mages. All of them. And not the friendly kind.

“Who are you?”

Hawke stepped forward, his own staff drawn before him. The small orb at the end had begun to glow, emitting a soft light that illuminated his face. He immediately dropped into a battle stance, feet planted wide and arm at the side.

“That is… irrelevant,” the leader said. Evelyn couldn’t place his accent, but his speech was smooth and light, aristocratic even. “What _is_ relevant is that we found the Champion of Kirkwall on our way to our destination.”

“And he’s alone!” another piped up. "A rare thing, that."

“Quite fortuitous,” a third agreed. “How pleased the Elder One will be that we were able to eliminate you before the fighting’s even begun.”

“Eliminate me?” Hawke asked, sounding surprised. “But we haven’t even sat down for tea!”

“Ah yes,” the leader said distastefully. “I’d heard you were glib. I suppose you think you’re terribly clever?”

“Don’t forget handsome,” Hawke shot back. “I’m dreadfully pretty.” He shot Evelyn a look out of the corner of his eyes as the group of mages bristled at his words. “Stay back,” he murmured.

She sent him an incredulous look. “You can’t defeat them all!” she said. He couldn’t possibly do it. There were five, and there was no way of knowing if more were lurking out of sight. “Don’t be stupid!”

“Listen to the woman, Champion,” one of the mages spat at them. “You can give in now and come with us." 

"We won't harm anything... vital," another added.

"Don’t be stupid,” the leader reiterated.

“Carver tells me that all the time,” he replied. He snorted, raising his staff a little higher. “I never listen.”

Without warning, he leapt toward the hooded mages, spinning his staff on its end. Before they could react, he slammed the butt of the staff into the leader’s stomach, blade cutting deep. He danced back as the mage dropped to the ground with a feeble cry, and fire burst into existence along the length of his staff as he summoned his magic.

The group fell back at the loss of the first mage, calling forth their own magic to fight Hawke. Two of them began to spark with purple lightning, energy racing along the blades of their staffs, and another had ice forming at his fingertips. They kept edging back, trying to find a better place from which to launch their spells.

But Hawke gave them no quarter. Evelyn watched, in awe, as he moved closer to them, using his staff as a physical weapon as much as a magical amplifier. He countered the ice bolts of the third mage with fire, and ducked when the others sent lightning his way. It was like watching a dance, his body instantly knowing which way to move and how to get out of the path of a stray spell.

The mages were talented, forsaking defensive spells for offense. But they kept running away, using some strange transportation spell Evelyn had never seen before. It allowed them to pop up in unfamiliar places, surprising Hawke.

She was so intent upon watching the battle that she didn’t sense one of them behind her until she felt her hair stand on end from his lightning. She gasped and ducked at the last second, rolling away from the mage. She tore her shirt on a fallen branch as she fell, the wood scraping her skin hard enough to draw blood. The mage laughed at her as she jumped shakily to her feet.

“Lucky girl,” he snapped, shooting a bolt of lightning at her.

Evelyn dodged again, the energy just barely missing her. No sooner had she come to a stop than the mage sent another barrage her way. She avoided the spells as best she could, trying to find some other opening. Her magic hummed at her beneath her skin, singing at her to summon it. _Not yet_ , she told herself. _Soon!_ She leapt back, avoiding another bolt of lightning, and then another. She was beginning to tire from dodging all the attacks. But so was her opponent. He paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, and she finally saw her opening. _Now!_

Magic surged beneath her palms as she concentrated hard on the ground beneath the mage’s feet. She snapped her arms apart, forcing the magic outward, and a wall of fire exploded into existence. The mage screamed in pain, caught in the fire, and his fellows turned to stare, shocked that he’d failed to capture her.

Hawke was staring at her dumbly, her magic taking him by surprise.

The foreign mages recovered first, angry now that their number was down to three. One of them lurched towards Hawke, who was still staring at her mutely. “Watch out!” she cried, instinctively shooting a fireball towards his would-be attacker.

That caught Hawke’s attention. He whirled around as the other mage jumped to avoid the fireball, slashing out with the blade of his staff. He caught the mage in the stomach, blood spattering the ground as the blade rent flesh.

Evelyn felt a bit sick at the sight, stomach roiling in protest. The smell of burnt flesh wasn’t helping either. She fell to her knees, gasping. Her fingers dug into the ground as she fought the nausea. She would not get sick, she would _not_ get sick…

Hawke finished off the last two mages in quick succession, their screams echoing loud in her ears even after the life had left them. She clenched her eyes shut so that she would not have to see them fall. She was trembling with the effort of keeping her stomach in check, cold sweat dripping down her forehead.

She looked up when a large hand fell on her shoulder. Hawke had come to rest on his knees in front of her, compassion on his face. “Are you alright?” he murmured. She nodded mutely, not trusting herself to speak just yet. “This was… well.” He cleared his throat. “Was this the first man you’ve had to kill?” She nodded again, and he sighed. “I’m sorry, Evelyn. You shouldn’t have had to do this. This is my fault.”

She took a deep breath through her nose. “It was an ambush,” she said weakly. “Don’t apologize for an ambush.”

He shook his head angrily. “They knew who I was,” he replied. “They said my death would please the Elder One... whoever that is. This may have been a chance encounter, but they attacked because of _me_.”

She finally looked up at him, glaring. “Are you always like this?” she snapped. “Blaming yourself for everything?”

“Now _that_ I blame on my mother. She always seemed to blame me for things. I suppose I adopted the habit sometime along the way.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes and sat back. The nausea had finally left her, though she still felt cold and clammy. She shivered, looking down at the tear in her shirt. Blood was seeping from the wound, but it was a shallow cut; she’d had worse. She took a moment to look at Hawke; he was sweating profusely, and still breathing harder than usual, but he looked unharmed.

He caught her gaze then, holding it. “You’re a mage.”

She nodded hesitantly. “I am.”

“You saved me back there,” he replied.

“I was also the one who distracted you,” she snorted.

He shrugged. “We’re even then.”

He held out a hand to her, and they helped each other up. “You don’t carry a staff, so you caught me by surprise,” he said thoughtfully. “Does anyone know?”

“My family,” she answered. They began to walk back to the horses; they had cornered themselves away from the action. Charger was prancing about nervously, the whites of his eyes showing. The other horse wasn’t in much better condition. “I kept it hidden from everyone else.”

“Good. People would likely brand you an apostate and drag you off to the nearest Circle if they knew.”

She looked over at him curiously. “They never dragged you off to a Circle,” she replied.

He snorted. “No,” he agreed, “they didn’t. But I’m a special case.”

“If you say so,” she said drily.

He walked over to his saddlebags, retrieving something before coming back to her. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. It was a poultice. She took it gratefully, warming it with her magic and then laying it over the cut on her stomach. She hissed at the stinging sensation, but the herbs soon soothed the pain. Hawke then retrieved some bandages, and helped her wind them about her torso to keep the poultice in place.

“Thank you,” she said when they were finished.

“It’s the least I can do.” He paused to consider this a moment. “Actually, it’s the most I can do. Unfortunately, I never studied healing magic. Never saw a need for it.” She raised an eyebrow at that. “My sister was the healer in the family.”

“Was?”

“She died.”

“Oh.” Evelyn cursed her thoughtlessness. She felt her cheeks heat. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said gruffly, moving to the horses.

She let the conversation drop, sensing she had crossed some sort of line. She stood there awkwardly for a moment, uncertain of what to do next. Finally, she joined him by the horses. They stared at the two animals for a moment, neither of them moving. They were back to where they had started then – fighting over who took what horse. Evelyn was of half a mind to reach out and grab Charger’s reins, but she wasn’t sure she was quick enough. Hawke was much more nimble than his large frame suggested; the battle had been proof of that.

“You take your father’s horse.”

Evelyn looked up at Hawke, surprised; he wore a look of resignation on his face, an air of defeat about him. “I shouldn’t have taken him,” he continued. “Besides, he doesn’t care for me.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn said, grateful that they’d settled this without more argument. She was tired, and still shaken from the earlier battle with the mages. An easy agreement was much more to her liking.

“I’ll ride back to your village with you,” he said, moving to take his saddle from Charger. The stallion seemed all too willing to oblige him for once.

“What about Varric?” she asked, surprised.

“You’re already injured because of me,” he said firmly. “The least I can do is see that you make it home safely.”

She scowled at him. “I can take care of myself!” she snapped.

“I never said you couldn’t,” he replied innocently. He bent down to strap his saddle back onto his horse.

“I don’t need your help!”

“I never said that either.” He stood up, turning to face her. “Humor me. I don’t like the thought of leaving you here alone with people like them-” he pointed to the foreign mages, “-roaming about. I’m not doing this because I think you’re weak, or because you’re small, or because you need help. I’m doing this because I can.”

She crossed her arms over her breasts sullenly. “Fine,” she snapped. She moved to mount Charger, nestling into his solid warmth gratefully. Hawke did likewise, and they set off down the road, heading back towards her village.

It was a long ride, neither of them talking much. Evelyn was too tired for conversation; it took all of her energy simply to stay upright on Charger’s back. Her eyelids drooped, and several times she caught herself falling over. Hawke sent her a concerned look each time, and she scowled at him. He’d chuckle at that, much to her frustration.

If she’d known the Champion of Kirkwall was this insufferable, she’d not have tried to buy his book.

By early afternoon, Evelyn could tell that something wasn’t right.

The air was thick with smoke, the smell of burning wood thick and pungent. It snapped her back to attention, her fatigue melting away as the acrid air burnt her nostrils. She had to cover her face with her hand to avoid coughing, and her eyes were watering. She didn’t understand; where was the fire coming from? She saw no trace of it, but it must have been huge for her to feel its effects from this distance.

It wasn’t until they reached the fields outside her village that she understood. She drew her horse up short, mouth falling open in shock.

“No.”

Her hoarse voice sounded strange to her ears; she almost didn’t recognize it.

Hawke drew up beside her. “By the Maker…” He sounded as shocked as she felt. Her heart was constricting painfully in her chest. It hurt just to breathe; it felt as if something was squeezing her, wringing the life from her. “What happened?”

Evelyn felt her body falling, and there was a roaring in her ears. Faintly, as if she were underwater, she heard Hawke cry out her name. Something caught her before she hit the ground, but her vision had already faded by then.

She saw nothing, felt nothing, knew nothing.

And before them, her village burned, all traces of life gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm really having fun writing this, so hopefully it's been fun to read so far!


	3. In Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke searches for survivors in the fire, and Evelyn decides her next move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, huge thanks and much love to bushviper for beta-ing this for me! <3

“Well, shit.”

Hawke looked down at the unconscious woman in his arms, unsure of what to do next. He certainly wasn’t a stranger to women fainting on him. He was rather an expert at making women swoon, if he did say so himself. But making them swoon was a far cry from rousing them to consciousness. How did he wake her - shake her like a doll, splash water on her face? He didn’t much like the first option, and there was no water to be had. He ultimately settled for something a little less extreme – attempting to speak with her.

“Evelyn.”

She didn’t respond.

“Evelyn!” He was a little more forceful this time, adding a little shake for extra emphasis. She groaned, but gave no other indication that she was conscious. Sighing, he settled her into a thick patch of grass out of the way of the path. He’d have to give it time. She would eventually awaken on her own, and in the meantime, a village was burning to the ground in front of him.

He tied the horses to a nearby fence post before he ran into what had once been the village square. The stone well in the center looked to be the only thing still intact; the rest of the buildings hadn’t been so fortunate. Only a few were still standing, the rest having long since collapsed. The heat from the flames was intense, making the area uncomfortably hot. He blinked furiously, attempting to relieve the burning in his eyes.

Covering his mouth and nose to keep the smoke out of his lungs, he ran in the direction of Evelyn’s house. Still, his throat burned from the acrid air. He fell to his knees, panting heavily for a moment as he tried to find some relief from the smoke whirling in the air. Once the lightheadedness had faded, he looked up, trying to gauge the distance he still had to go. It wasn’t far now; he could see what remained of her home just ahead. A coughing fit hit him then and he cursed, ducking his head. He didn’t want to go on; tears were streaming down his face and his skin was fever hot. But he had to make it; what if there were people trapped inside?

Gasping for breath, he rose to his feet and continued on despite every instinct telling him to flee.

Evelyn’s house had to have been one of the first attacked. The flames were nearly dead here, the building a ruined husk. It had collapsed in on itself, ceiling rafters having fallen haphazardly across the ground. He paused at the entrance, gasping for breath; the air was less foul here than in the village below. It gave him the chance to catch his breath, and he looked around for any signs of human life.

“Is anyone there?” he called out hoarsely. He listened intently, straining for the slightest sound that wasn’t the faint crackling, burning, and popping of wood.

There was no answer.

“Hello?” he tried again.

Silence.

He stepped into the ruins, walking carefully to avoid any embers. He searched among the charred wood for a long while, looking for anyone who might have been trapped, or worse - dead. Once he’d determined there was no one in the house, he began to look for anything that might be of value to Evelyn. But there was nothing. Everything had burned – the furniture, the floors, the flowers in the garden outside; even the bricks of the fireplace were dark and singed with soot. The pot that had been there the night he’d left was broken in two from the heat, the clay brittle and cracked.

He kicked it angrily, scowling at the destruction around him.

It was strange, that. There was no trace of life, animal or human. Where were the people? Had they managed to get away in time? It would have taken quite a while to round up all of the farm animals and move out of the village to safety. Had someone helped them? Had they somehow gotten word this was about to happen? It seemed unlikely, and yet he couldn’t find another explanation.

Who had done such a thing? It was such a small, out of the way location. He doubted these people knew much of the world around them. They couldn’t have had any enemies. What had the villagers done to deserve this?

He crossed his arms over his chest, thinking. He didn’t like that the attack on the village had happened right after he’d been attacked on the road. Were the two events linked? It seemed likely, but he couldn’t imagine why. Had the foreign mages somehow guessed that these people had helped him? Was that it? No, it couldn’t be. They’d come from the completely opposite direction. And they’d mentioned that they were on their way to somewhere else.

Perhaps there were two separate groups of one entity. Maybe a group had been sent to destroy the village, and the other was to meet up with them afterwards. It could have been coincidence that the foreign mages had found him on the road.

But then again, how many things in his life were truly coincidences?

“Shit.” He scrubbed his hand over his face once in frustration. There wasn’t enough information here; he didn’t know all of the facts. He hated that he couldn’t come up with an answer to his own questions. And what did he tell Evelyn? Maker, what was Evelyn supposed to _do?_

“Hawke?”

Hawke looked up, drawn from his dark thoughts. Evelyn had awoken it seemed, and come to find him. Her face was streaked with soot, her large, dark green eyes red-rimmed. He couldn’t tell if it was from the smoke or from her grief. She took a few wobbly steps toward him, and he instantly moved to grab her arm, steady her.

“What happened?” she asked. Her voice was so small, so lost. She looked around at what remained of her home. “I don’t understand…”

He shook his head angrily, unable to find the words to answer her.

She looked up at him. “Who would have done this?” Without waiting for an answer, she stepped towards the broken pot, kneeling heavily on the ground. She took the two pieces of broken clay in her hands, staring down at them mutely.

Something in him shuddered at the sight of her kneeling before what had been the hearth. Perhaps it was because she reminded him of his mother in that moment – so broken and spent after Lothering, after losing Bethany and all that had remained of their father. Their postures were the same - hunched over, defeated, broken down. Or perhaps it was how numb she seemed, how mutely she sat there in horror – just like Carver. Would she react as he had, lashing out in stubborn anger after suppressing emotions for for too long? Would she try to be strong despite her pain, only to fall grief to it later?

He didn’t want that to happen to her.

“Evelyn.”

She looked up at him, face wet with tears. “Yes?” Her voice slipped a bit, catching in her throat.

“Come with me.”

She blinked at him owlishly, hands falling into her lap. “To the south?” she asked. She looked down.

“You can’t stay here,” he continued, dropping down so that he could look her in the eye. “Whoever did this is still out there. They could be looking for survivors. And I can’t imagine they’ll do anything good to any stragglers they manage to find.”

“My family,” she said weakly. “Do you think they’re alive?”

“I… don’t know. I didn’t find any bodies.” He shook his head. “Would your family have gone somewhere else? Did you have any relatives nearby?”

She shook her head. “No. There is no one else.”

He nodded, rising to his feet and holding out a hand to help her up. That settled it. He would take her to Kirkwall, have Aveline watch over her. He could give her enough money to settle in, find a place to live and get her some decent work. She could even live in his mansion if she wanted to; Maker knew he had the space for it. And once he’d managed to free Varric, he could come back and help her find her family. But she couldn’t stay here; that was for certain.

“Wait.”

He froze.

“There is someone.” The pieces of broken pottery dropped to the ground as she took his hand, rising. “My brother, Edric. He’s a Templar.”

“A Templar?” Hawke asked sharply. “With apostates for a mother and sister?”

“He did it to protect us,” she replied, though her words lacked conviction. He couldn’t tell if was because she was dazed or if she doubted the truth of her words, as he did. “He shielded us from them. It made us less suspicious.”

He sighed. “Where is he stationed?” he asked reluctantly. He didn’t like the thought of handing her over to the Templars, even if her brother was one of them. She was a mage, after all. The things they might do to her… yes, it would be much safer with Aveline.

Safer in Kirkwall. He would have laughed if the idea hadn’t been so ridiculous.

“He was stationed at the Ostwick Circle, but he was transferred several years ago.”

“Where? Starkhaven, Hercinia?”

“Kirkwall, I think.”

_“What?”_

Of course he was stationed in was Kirkwall. The irony was appalling.

The anger in his voice must have shown on his face, for she sent him a bewildered look. She must not have known then – she must not have realized how far the Templars of Kirkwall had fallen. And he didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth at the moment.

Not while she was standing in the ashes of her former life.

“The Knight-Commander requested more Templars from the other cities,” she replied. “Edric volunteered to go to Kirkwall. He thought he could help the situation there. Will you help me get to him?” she asked. “I don’t know Kirkwall the way you do.” She shuffled closer, seeing the reluctance on his face. “Please, Hawke – he’s my brother. I don’t know what else to do.”

He hesitated. It was a good distance to Kirkwall. They would have plenty of time to talk, plenty of time for him to impress upon her how grievously corrupted the Templars of Kirkwall had become. He had time to try and convince her to stay with Aveline instead. It wasn’t impossible; she didn’t seem to idolize the Templars as some people did. He might be able to convince her that walking into the Gallows wasn’t something she wanted to do.

And if he couldn’t, there was always Anders’ manifesto. He had a few dozen copies of that lying around.

She was still staring at him earnestly, large green eyes hopeful. In that moment, she reminded him of Fenris, and he sighed, sensing that this wasn’t a fight he’d win.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll help you get to Kirkwall.”

*

Evelyn lay on her side, staring blankly into the fire.

She was tired; every bit of her body ached with exhaustion. But she couldn’t sleep. She’d nodded off several times throughout the day, and finally Hawke had settled her in front of him on his horse so that she wouldn’t fall off. But she’d always dozed fitfully, unable to stay asleep for more than an hour. Even now, stopped for the night with a bedroll beneath her, she found rest elusive.

She just couldn’t stop thinking about them – her brother, her parents, the dog, the villagers… where were they? She and Hawke had scoured the rest of the village, looking to salvage anything that might be of use. They’d not found a single body. At first, the thought that her family had escaped had made her happy. But amidst her searching, that joy had quickly turned to fear. Why were they missing? Where had they gone? Were they hurt?

She had no answers, and neither did Hawke. He hadn’t spoken to her much, sensing her need for silence. For that, she was grateful. She wasn’t ready to talk about it. She didn’t trust herself to speak just yet.

Eventually, she fell into a fitful sleep plagued with terrifying dreams of the fire and her family. She woke in a cold sweat just before dawn. Hawke wasn’t looking at her as he broke down the camp. He knew what she’d dreamt of then; it was easy enough to deduce. She rose and walked to a nearby stream, splashing her face and hair with the cold water. The shock to her system worked, and she shivered as the air hit her. She spent a few moments by the water, collecting herself, and then returned to camp, ready to return to the road.

It was mid-afternoon before either of them spoke.

“How did your parents happen to meet?” Hawke asked, his words catching her by surprise. She looked up to find him staring at her curiously. He smiled and continued talking. “You said your mother's from Rivain. Tell me, how does a Rivaini seer end up married to a Marcher farmer?”

“Well, he wasn’t always a farmer,” Evelyn replied. "And she's not  _from_ Rivain. She was trained there. Her family was killed in a shipwreck off the coast of Dairsmuid when she was a little girl. She was the only survivor. The Rivaini took her in and trained her." 

“I see. And she left?”

Evelyn nodded. "She wanted to find her extended family," she explained. "They lived in Hercinia, but she couldn't find them when she arrived. So she began traveling north, and on the way back, she met my father."

"And the rest was history?" he guessed, grinning. "So tell me - who was he, if not a farmer?"

“He was born the first son of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick,” she said quietly.

“You mean I’ve been in the presence of nobility all this time?” he asked. He bowed in his saddle. “Apologies, my Lady.”

She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. But then he looked up, a smirk on his face, and winked at her. Definitely not serious then. “You’re making fun of me,” she accused.

“I would never,” he said quickly. “I’d be much too scared to lose my head!”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not nobility,” she said. “My father _used_ to be the Bann’s son. He was disinherited.”

“For what?” he asked.

“He fell in love with my mother,” she replied.

Hawke’s face grew serious. “And the Bann didn’t approve?”

Evelyn shook her head. “He thought her a savage,” she said. “Father told me that he used to call Mother a barbarian. To his face. I think there were worse names too, but he wouldn’t say those in front of me. Eventually, he gave Father an ultimatum – if he married my mother, he’d be disowned and cast out of the family.”

“Ah,” Hawke said, nodding.

“Father left the estate then, and he never returned. His younger brother became the heir in his stead. I’ve never even met that side of the family.”

“You know, my mother did a similar thing when she was young.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Hawke nodded. “My father was a dashing rogue. Swept her off feet. I take after him, you know,” he added conspiratorially. She snorted, but he continued his story, unaffected. “But Father was a mage, and Mother’s family wanted nothing to do with him. There was no future for them. She was an Amell, you see, and Amell’s were required to marry into the proper families.”

“What happened?”

“The usual,” he replied. “Mother snuck out a window at night, they ran away together, and before they knew it, I was born, adding magnificence and purpose to their dull, runaway lives. The twins came later.”

“Twins?”

“Bethany and Carver,” he said. “Carver’s a Grey Warden now. It suits him, I think. He always did like swinging that big sword of his around, whacking things.” He didn’t say anything about Bethany, and Evelyn guessed that she was the sister he’d been reluctant to mention before. She avoided mentioning her again, guessing that he wouldn’t be any more receptive to talk of her now.

“I have two brothers,” she said instead. “Ewan and Edric.”

“And you’re the youngest?” She nodded. “It figures – you’re so small.”

“I am not small!” she snapped.

He laughed outright at that. “And I’m the next Divine,” he joked. He swiftly returned to the subject of family members, seeing the flash of anger in her eyes. “Your older brother’s a Templar, you said. What of the younger?”

“He helps Father with the farm,” she replied, a touch of heat still in her voice. “Or at least… he did. I’m not sure what will happen now.”

“And what of you?”

Her anger dissipated at the unexpected question. “Me?”

“Where did you fit into things?” he clarified.

“I…” She trailed off, unsure of how to reply. Where had she fit in? She had picked fruit just as Ewan had plowed the fields. But anyone could pick fruit. It wasn’t a trade she could practice. And she wasn’t going to inherit the farm; that would fall to Ewan, three years her senior. She had always thought that she’d eventually marry someone and become a mother herself. The fact that none of the village’s young men appealed to her had seemed immaterial.

“I don’t know,” she said finally.

What was she to do with her life now? She hoped that she would find Edric in Kirkwall, but she couldn’t be sure. His letters, once frequent, had tapered off when the war between the mages and Templars had broken out. They’d not had word of him in months. He might not even be there anymore. What would happen then? What would become of her? She was taking a bit of risk just in coming after him.

“You know,” Hawke said quietly, “I have a lot of friends in Kirkwall. I can… help you out, if you need it. If, for whatever reason, your brother can’t or won’t help you.”

That was an odd thing to say. “Why wouldn’t my brother help me?” she asked, frowning.

“Evelyn,” he said cautiously, “The Templars in Kirkwall are… different.” The amusement in his voice had faded. “Knight-Commander Meredith was…” He snorted. “How can I put this? She was a tyrant. Her paranoia of blood magic led her to an irrational fear of all mages. She passed that along to many of the Templars beneath her. Many in the Order became frightened of mages, hated them. Abuses were rampant.”

“Is that why you killed her?”

“Well, that and because her red lyrium sword literally drove her mad,” Hawke said, shrugging.

“Red lyrium? I thought lyrium was blue.”

“It is, normally,” he said. “Red lyrium is a strange variety. Varric and I found a statue of it when we went to the Deep Roads. It’s far more potent than the normal variety of lyrium - gives you incredible abilities, but also corrupts you. Meredith had a sword made of it.”

Evelyn shook her head, unsure of what to make of that. She hadn’t heard anything of this new kind of lyrium in the rumors her father had brought back from Ostwick.

“I mention the corruption in the Templar ranks just to warn you that your brother may be… different,” he continued.

She scowled at him. “My brother would not fall to corruption,” she said firmly.

“You’re sure?” he asked. He didn’t sound convinced.

“Of course!” she said. “Edric has the deepest respect for mages. Our mother taught us that magic was a gift, not something to be ashamed of.”

“And yet he joined an organization that claims magic is something to be feared,” Hawke retorted.

“To _protect_ mages,” she insisted.

He sighed, looking away. She could tell that he didn’t believe her, and that bothered her. Edric was a good man – he was fierce and strong, and he protected those weaker and less able than himself. He wouldn’t fall prey to corruption in the ranks, no matter how strong the temptation. Of that, she was sure. She might not be able to convince Hawke of that, but she knew better.

The rest of the day’s journey was spent in silence. Evelyn was content to leave it that way; it allowed her time to think of what was to come next. When they stopped for the night, the sun had already disappeared beneath the horizon. Hawke made a fire while she tethered the horses nearby, bringing the saddlebags to the fire once she was done. He took his from her easily, hefting them with one hand despite their weight.

She rolled out her bedroll as close to the fire as she dared, grateful for the warmth. It was the time of year when the nights began to grow cold, and tonight was no exception. She removed her boots and set her feet before the fire, wiggling her toes around in her stockings.

“Here.”

Hawke handed her some bread and a chunk of cheese. She took them gratefully, biting into the bread with gusto. They hadn’t eaten since they’d woken that morning. This meal was similar to the first, the crackling of the fire the only noise. Evelyn wondered if perhaps she’d irritated Hawke in their early conversation; perhaps he didn’t want to talk to her.

She frowned at the thought. Was it because of what she’d said about the Templars? That seemed a silly reason not to speak to her. She decided to ask him about it. “Did I upset you earlier?”

He looked startled at that. “Not at all,” he replied. He frowned. “Why would you think I was upset?”

“You haven’t said two words since we disagreed about my brother,” she pointed out.

“Neither have you,” he said, smirking.

“I… was thinking.”

“So was I.”

“… what about?”

“I miss my dog.”

“Your dog?”

“He’s a goofy thing,” Hawke said, nodding. “A Fereldan mabari.”

“I’ve never seen one,” Evelyn admitted.

“Never?” Hawke sounded scandalized. “There’s something I’ll have to rectify. You’ll have to meet him. His name is Duke. He’s very friendly; he’ll jump all over you.” He paused, eyeing her, and then burst out laughing. “He’ll probably knock you over. I think he weighs more than you do.”

She scowled at him. “I’m not _that_ small!” she snapped.

He shook his head, smiling. “You don’t understand,” he said. “He’s just that big. He knocks Carver over half the time, and my brother is nothing if not a hulking specimen of a man. He’s been with me everywhere, and gone on every adventure I’ve ever had.”

Hawke used the opportunity to launch into tales of his adventures around Kirkwall. Evelyn listened intently as he spoke, enraptured in his storytelling. He was very animated, and his witty jokes had her laughing in no time. She was able to forget her plight for a moment, losing herself in the antics of Hawke and his rag-tag company of misfits. He spoke of Isabela, a notorious pirate who’d stolen a Qunari relic from right underneath the Arishok’s nose. He told her of Aveline, the shieldmaiden from Ferelden who still worked with Hawke despite her ties to the City Guard. And finally there was Fenris, a prickly former slave with the ability to rip people’s hearts from their bodies. She was disappointed when he stopped several hours later, announcing they’d best get some sleep.

She didn’t want him to stop talking. His voice was soothing, gentle and kind, but animated and warm. Did Hawke have this effect on everyone? Was this how he’d managed to get so many people on his side?

She laid down, turning on her side and curling up into a ball as her eyes slipped closed. That had to be it, she decided. How else would he get such a disparate crew to work together in tandem?

Hawke was simply magnetic.

*

She was sleeping.

 _Finally_ , Hawke thought to himself. He’d been worried for her last night; he’d heard her tossing and turning, and it didn’t take a dreamer to imagine the kinds of nightmares she was having. It seemed that tonight, exhaustion was winning over grief; mere moments after she closed her eyes, her breathing slowed and her body relaxed.

He stared at her across the fire, taking the opportunity to study her while she couldn’t see him. She was quite pretty, really. Her face was small and heart-shaped, with sharp cheekbones and a strong, aquiline nose set above firm, round lips. Dark lashes rested against her tanned skin, hiding the surprisingly green eyes that seemed to bore right through him. Three rings hung from each of her earlobes, partially obscured by her shoulder-length, dark brown hair.

He wondered absently how old she was. It was nearly impossible to tell. She was very petite, her skinny frame almost boyish. Did her brothers look like her? He tried to think of all the Templars he’d seen in Kirkwall; he couldn’t recall seeing one that resembled Evelyn. But then again, there were a lot of Templars in that city.

Maybe it was better that she didn’t carry a staff. Without one, she wouldn’t attract much attention. Well, she would; she was a pretty young woman, after all. But she wouldn’t pique the attention of the Templars without a staff. She would just be another pretty little thing in a very large city. The thought of them looking at her, knowing she was a mage, with predatory intent in their eyes enraged him. He clenched a hand into a fist then, forcing himself not to think of past abuses.

It was different now. He’d helped fix things. And he would continue to mend things. It _would_ get better.

She shifted in her sleep suddenly, and he looked away. He felt almost guilty for staring so long.

He stood, moving to the edge of their small campsite to set a few wards over the area. It didn’t take long, the practice familiar to him after long days spent out of doors on various quests. Merrill had taught him a few things too, spells the Dalish used to ward their aravels when they ventured close to the edge of the forest.

He turned, making for his own bedroll, when he noticed that Evelyn had awoken. She was watching him, eyes drooping with sleep. He walked back to the fire slowly and made ready for bed, feeling her eyes on him the whole time. She was still looking at him when he slipped beneath the blanket.

“What is it?” he asked finally, unable to bear her silent gaze any longer.

“Why are you helping me, Hawke?”

There was vulnerability in her face, and he thought carefully before he spoke. She needed to hear the truth – but she also needed something light-hearted. There was already too much darkness in her at the moment.

“Have you not heard the stories about me?” he asked teasingly. “Taking in strays and helping them is kind of what I do.”

She smiled lightly. “The stories don’t mention how kind you are,” she murmured. “Brave and strong, a bit of an ass…but not kind.”

“Did they at least say I was handsome?” he asked. “That’s the important part.”

She laughed softly. “They didn’t mention that.”

“How rude,” he huffed, leaning back against the saddlebags. He had to fidget for a few minutes until he got comfortable. The leather wasn’t terribly pliant against his neck.

“Thank you, Hawke.”

Even as he looked over to her, she was falling asleep again. She shifted, curling up into the blanket, knees tucked against her chest. The movement reminded him of one of Anders’ cats.

Hawke smiled.

“You’re welcome, Evelyn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) I know I should be working on my other stories, but this one is all that's been on my mind, lately. I'm obsessed. With my own characters. HAH.
> 
> I guess that's good, since my husband stole the Xbox to play Star Wars: Battlefront. Doesn't look like I'll be getting that back anytime soon. 
> 
> As always, feedback is much appreciated! :)


	4. A Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edric Trevelyan questions his choices, and Evelyn and Hawke reach Kirkwall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter! New characters! Woo! I think AO3 ate the last chapter haha... it never appeared in the DA feed. 
> 
> Again, thanks to the awesome bushviper for beta-ing this <3 I can't express how grateful I am to you for doing this, BV! :D

Edric Trevelyan had never meant for this to happen.

He slammed a fist into the table angrily, the candles illuminating its surface wobbling precariously at the impact. He watched them absently as they stilled. The messenger’s gaze was still boring into his back; he could feel it from across the tent. Huffing out an angry breath, he stood, turning to face the runner. “Find me Seeker Pentaghast,” he said curtly. The letter in his hands crunched as his fist clenched.

The man nodded and fled the tent.

Alone, he allowed himself a moment of weakness, hand passing over his face as he drew in a deep, shuddering breath. They were safe. They were _alive_ , thank the Maker – _that_ was what mattered. He should focus on that, not on the bad. But it was hard, so very, very hard. His family had lost everything because of him. They could have died because of him. And his little sister was nowhere to be found.

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered, hand dropping to his side. As if it wasn’t enough that the entire world was falling to pieces… now his family was being attacked? Because he’d had the gall to attempt to solder those pieces back together again?

His tent flap burst open as Cassandra walked inside. “You have had news,” she breathed, a hopeful expression on her face. She came to stand right next to him, eager to hear what he had to say.

He held up the pages he’d crumpled in anger just moments before. “A letter from the Ostwickian Templars,” he replied. “They recognized my family and have taken them in. The rest of the village is being cared for as well.”

“But they are alive,” Cassandra said.

“For now,” Edric agreed. “I… I do not know what they will do with my mother.”

“The apostate?”

“She is not an-” He broke off angrily, shaking his head. She was an apostate; that was what Chantry law dictated. Mages who did not live in the Circles were outlaws, deemed dangerous to the rest of humanity. But this was his mother they were talking about, his sweet, gentle mother who could not hurt someone if she tried. He could not bring himself to think of her as an apostate, even after all his years of Templar training. It felt wrong.

“I am sorry,” Cassandra said quickly. “That was… thoughtless of me.”

“No,” he disagreed. “She is, technically speaking, an apostate.”

“And you think they will take her into custody?”

“I cannot say,” he replied. “I do not even know if they will recognize her as a mage. But she is old, and she is not as strong as she once was. Perhaps if they discover her magic, they will transfer her to me, assuming I will take responsibility for her here.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. They were maddeningly vague.” He threw the letter down on his desk then. “But that is not the worst of it.”

“There is more?” Cassandra shot him a worried look.

“They didn’t find my sister. She wasn’t with my parents and brother when they fled the village.”

Cassandra stepped forward, setting a hand on his arm. “If she was not there when the fire broke out, then she is alive,” she said firmly. “She must have been away from the area.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to accept her words. How did the Seeker sound so sure of herself? He doubted; oh, how he doubted. The possibility that Evelyn might be alive existed, true – there had been no sign of her, nothing to suggest she had perished in the attack. And no news was good news. She could be out there right now, roaming the countryside as she tried to figure out what had happened.

But she was so small.

Evelyn wasn’t a fighter; she’d never been trained to use a bow, or to fight with a sword. He and Ewan had been the hunters of the family. She had her magic, but she’d never had to use it to defend herself before. She’d been trained in discipline, to avoid possession and hide her abilities from the Templars. Not to kill. The thought of her facing down his enemies, sent to kill her in order to get to him…

He couldn’t bear the thought.

He sighed, opening his eyes. Cassandra was still there, as resolute and firm as ever. She was a woman of indomitable faith. It was something he greatly admired in her; too many people, himself included, were plagued by doubt. But not Cassandra Pentaghast.

He placed his hand atop hers, gripping it tightly for a moment. “She might be alive,” he agreed. “You are right. I have to keep believing that.”

She nodded. “I will talk to Leliana,” she said. “She may be able to help us find her.”

“That’s a good idea,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Do the Templars of Ostwick have any guesses as to why your village was attacked?”

Edric walked to the other side of the desk, gripping the wood for support. “If they do, they didn’t say,” he replied. “No one saw the arsonists. The villagers reported that the fire came from nowhere. Maker be praised, they all got out alive.” He pursed his lips, hating the guilt that swept through him. Was this his fault? Was he the reason the village had been attacked? He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the cause.

“You think it is because of you.”

He looked up at Cassandra; she’d crossed her arms over her breasts, appraising him. “Of course I think that,” he retorted. “Why else would they attack a remote village like mine?” He shook his head. “I don’t _think_ it is because of me. I _know_ it is because of me.”

Once again, he questioned his decision to come south. It had been one thing to move from Ostwick to Kirkwall; the two cities weren’t close, but he could have reached one within a week of leaving the other. And he had been needed in Kirkwall; the Templars there had been disgraces to the Order, full of fear and spite. They had needed a good influence after so many years under bad leadership. But joining the Inquisition? Helping Cassandra lead it?

Had he been too eager?

He had wanted to do good. When Cassandra had come to Kirkwall, looking to recruit people to her mission, he had immediately been drawn to her. The idea of ending the ridiculous war between Templars and mages appealed to him, as had the possibility of advocating for mage rights. He and the Knight-Captain, a Fereldan by the name of Cullen Rutherford, had both decided to follow her lead. Several of the lower ranking Templars had joined them. All of them had sought to help in the terrible chaos that threatened so many lives.

But was it worth it, if people started to attack his family because of it? Was Rutherford’s family next? Or Cassandra’s? Surely they would not dare to attack the Pentaghasts. He shook his head angrily.

“I must not dwell on it,” he snapped, more to himself than to Cassandra. “It will only make me angrier.”

“Perhaps I can distract you,” Cassandra offered.

He looked up at her, surprised. Was that… was she…? She flushed, realizing how her words had come across, and shook her head quickly. “I did not mean-! I-” She scowled, pink still staining her cheeks. “I am going to talk to the dwarf. You know of the past situation in Kirkwall better than I – your presence could be helpful.”

Ah, so that was it then. She was going to question the dwarf again. He wasn’t sure that she would be able to get anything new out of him, but he was willing to go with her. It would be a worthwhile distraction.

He nodded, motioning for her to take the lead.

“Let’s go.”

*

“So this is Kirkwall.”

“Pick your jaw up off the ground. You’re embarrassing me.”

Evelyn glared at Hawke. He nonchalantly walked past her, leading the way into the city proper. “I’m not gaping,” she huffed, hurrying to follow him lest she get lost in this huge place.

“Catching flies then?” She realized her mouth really _was_ half-open in awe and snapped it shut. Hawke grinned at her. “Come on. Let’s see about finding your brother.”

She quickly lost track of where they were in the city. Hawke seemed to know his way though, effortlessly dodging traffic and taking side streets to save them time. They seemed to be going towards the sea – she began to smell the tang of salt in the air the farther they walked, and hear the cry of the gulls. Her guesses were confirmed when they finally burst out of the labyrinth of buildings, blue water stretching before her as far as her eyes could see.

She looked up at Hawke curiously. “I thought we were going to see the Templars?”

“We are.” He pointed to a massive square building just offshore. “The Gallows. That’s where we’ll find your brother.”

“That’s where they live?” she asked. It seemed a strange place to house people.

He snorted darkly. “That’s where they imprison their mages,” he muttered. “And wherever mages go, the Templars follow. Come on,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of some merchant stalls. “Let’s see what we can find.”

They spent the better part of fifteen minutes searching the port for a Templar. Hawke seemed to think that was far too long, if his grumbling was any indication. Eventually, they found a small group standing near a food stall, the smell of meat and cheese mingling with the air. Evelyn’s stomach rumbled embarrassingly loudly, and she covered a hand over herself as they approached.

“You, there! Templar!”

The group looked up as the two of them approached, their lax posture instantly stiffening. “Hawke,” one of them spat. He looked down his nose at them, lip curling into a sneer. “Killed any civilians today?”

“Just two,” Hawke deadpanned. “And they were asking for it – they insulted my hair. Can you believe it? Called me _shaggy_.” He sighed. “Gentlemen, I require your assistance.”

The Templar laughed, looking back at his two companions. “Hear that, boys? The _Champion_ needs our help!”

“I’m looking for a Templar.”

“Why?” a second Templar asked. “Gonna kill him too?”

“Well now, that really depends on how nice he is to me, doesn’t it?” Hawke asked. “Whether or not he insults my hair.”

“Bloody mage,” the third muttered, shaking his head.

“I heard that,” Hawke said calmly. He turned back to the first one. “As I said – I’m looking for a certain Templar. And I really don’t have a lot of time. So can you help me, or should I invade your citadel and find the man myself?”

The leader flushed and glared at him but soon relented, recognizing the threat for what it was. “What’s his name?” he asked sullenly.

Hawke looked down at Evelyn expectantly. The Templar’s gaze flicked to her, his eyes roving over her small form. “Who’s this?” he asked, interest piquing his voice. He took a step towards her.

Instantly, Hawke moved in front of her, hand held out in warning. “A friend,” he said, voice gone low and dangerous. The Templar paused and stepped back after a moment’s consideration, snorting in amusement. Evelyn wasn’t sure what he found so funny; she wasn’t sure that she wanted to know, either.

“His name’s Edric Trevelyan,” she said quietly.

“Trevelyan?” the third Templar piped up. “The mage lover?”

“That’s him,” the second said, nodding. “Always going on about mage rights and Templar ‘infractions’, he was. Damn embarrassment.” He spat, and Evelyn felt the heat rise in her veins. Her magic surged, responding to her anger. She pushed it back, hands balling into fists at her side. _They aren’t worth it_ , she told herself. _Let it go_.

Hawke seemed to sense her anger, for he quickly spoke up. “We seem to disagree on what constitutes an embarrassment to the Templar Order,” he said lightly.

“Seems we do.” The lead Templar’s companions rose to their feet, coming to stand beside him. They were tall and imposing in their heavy steel armor; Evelyn gulped nervously, taking an involuntary step back. She understood the rumors now; she got why people feared the rogue Templars hunting down mages. Their hatred towards Hawke caught her off-guard, and though it wasn’t directed at her, its menace sent her anger fading fast.

“Then let’s not make this any harder than it has to be,” Hawke snapped. “Edric Trevelyan. Where can I find him?”

“He’s not here.” Evelyn froze, staring at the Templar who’d spoken. He gave her an odd look at her hissed intake of breath, and added, “He left for Ferelden ‘bout a month ago. Damn twit kept going on and on ‘bout putting an end to the war.”

“He left?” Hawke asked sharply.

“Aye,” the leader added. “Him and the Knight-Captain, and those that shared their idiot opinions. Bleeding hearts.” He shook his head. “Damn fools. Traitors to the Order, both of ‘em!”

“He’s not here,” Evelyn said faintly, repeating the Templar’s words.

The man looked over at her. “Are you dumb?” he snapped. “I just said that!”

“But… he has to be here,” she insisted. “This is where he’s stationed.”

“And he fucking _left_ ,” he sneered. “Called us all paranoid bastards while he was at it. Good riddance, if you ask me.” He turned his attention back to Hawke. “Leave, Champion. While we’re feeling kind.”

“Gladly,” Hawke snapped. He took Evelyn by the arm and steered her out of the harbor, ignoring her protests. She tried to fight him off, desperate to wring more information from the Templars, but he was too strong.

“Let me go!” she cried, yanking at his hand on her bicep.

“No.”

“I said _let go_!” she snapped.

“I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you if that’s what it takes!” he warned.

“You have no right-”

“Up you go!”

Before Evelyn could so much as get a word in edgewise, Hawke picked up her and threw her over his shoulder. An angry cry left her throat, and she squirmed, trying to fight her way down. But his grip stayed tight around her middle. Indignant, she beat him with her fists and lashed out with feet. People started to stare at the ruckus she was making. And yet Hawke continued to walk down the street as nonchalantly as if he were carrying a sack of grain on his shoulder.

Worse, he was _whistling_.

She gave up after about ten minutes, her body sagging in defeat.

“Finished?”

She scowled. “I suppose.”

“If I set you down, will you walk with me like a civilized person? Or will you go running off towards the Templars the minute I let you go?”

“I make no promises,” she sniffed.

He shrugged. “My saga as Hawke the beast of burden continues,” he said lightly, patting her calf. “Not to worry – it’s not far.”

True to his word, they soon arrived in what was clearly the richer part of the city. The houses here were huge, gated gardens filled with opulent fountains and delicately pruned greenery. Despite her irritation, Evelyn couldn’t help but be filled with wonder. How wealthy did one have to be to live here? She couldn’t imagine residing in a house so big; what were all of the rooms for? Surely there was more space than was necessary.

Hawke stopped in front of one of the largest houses on the street. He set her down then, keeping a firm grip on her arm as he let them into the front gate. “You can let go,” she snapped. “I’m not going to run away now.”

He laughed. “I’ve heard that one before.”

She scowled up at him. “I’m serious!” she said. Hawke reached into a pocket and pulled out a set of keys, using one rather large silver one to unlock the door. “Let me-!” Her voice caught in her throat as he finished unlocking the door, pushing it open to reveal the magnificent interior.

It was beautiful.

The wooden floors were polished so brightly that they shone, reflecting the furniture that sat atop the surface. A brilliant chandelier hung from the ceiling, sparkling crystal throwing brilliant beams of light all around the room. Statues and paintings adorned every available corner, and fancy flowers she couldn’t name sat in vases beneath each window.

She was hesitant to step inside, it was so decadent. “You live here?” she asked softly.

Hawke snorted. “My mother did the decorations,” he said ruefully, finally relinquishing his grip on her arm as they entered the building. “Trust me, I’d be just as happy living over a tavern somewhere.” She walked into the middle of the room, steps light and timid. She kept away from the figurines, lest she accidentally break one. The door slipped closed behind her then, and she turned. Hawke had an amused look on his face.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“You - your unabashed reverence is touching. Mother would be so happy to see that someone finally appreciates her taste in useless decorations.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, and he laughed.

“Come on,” he said, waving her out of the entryway. “We need to talk.”

Her awe faded as quickly as it had come upon her as she remembered the encounter with the Templars. She nodded, following Hawke down a hallway to a large kitchen. A bowl of fruit sat upon a granite counter. “Help yourself,” he said casually, gesturing to the bowl. He ducked into a side door and returned a few moments later with two small loaves of bread and a jar of honey. He handed one to her before rummaging around in a drawer for a knife.

Evelyn wasted no time in selecting an apple from the bowl, immediately bringing the succulent fruit to her lips. It was perfect after days of hard bread and dried meat, the sweetness overwhelming her dulled senses. She reached for the honey too, following Hawke’s lead in smearing it on the bread.

“Your brother isn’t here.”

She looked up at Hawke sheepishly, expecting a reprimand. But his expression surprised her; he looked almost happy. “I… we hadn’t heard from him in a while, but I hadn’t thought that he might’ve left Kirkwall.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I made you drag me here for nothing.”

“For nothing?” he repeated, words muffled around the bite of bread in his mouth. He swallowed and continued. “I was going to bring you to Kirkwall anyways, you know.”

“You were?” she asked, surprised.

“Well, I wasn’t going to leave you alone in your village,” he huffed. “I may be in a hurry, but I’m not a complete bastard.”

“What were you going to do with me?”

“I have a friend,” he replied. “Aveline – you remember me talking about her?” Evelyn nodded that she did. “I had planned on asking her and her husband if they would take you in until I return. They’re good people, and they would keep your magic a secret.”

It made sense. From the stories Hawke had told her, Aveline had always seemed the mother of his small band of friends. The woman would likely take her in without question, providing for her in Hawke’s absence. And she would probably enjoy time spent in Kirkwall; she’d never stayed in a real city before, nor experienced what that kind of life would entail. Her few trips to Ostwick had been short and sporadic.The thought of life in Kirkwall was actually appealing to her.

But she knew it wasn’t to be.

She couldn’t stay here. It wouldn’t be right, not while her family was out there. Were they searching for her? Did they think her dead? Were _they_ dead? She had no way of knowing. But she refused to sit in a city and wait for someone to help her, regardless of how much she would enjoy the city. Nor did she want to wait for someone to come to _her_ rescue. She was perfectly capable of helping herself.

“You aren’t going to stay here, are you?”

Evelyn looked up, surprised to see Hawke staring at her. He had a knowing look in his brown eyes. “I…” She trailed off, unsure of what to say. He’d caught her unawares with his bluntness.

“You can say it,” he said casually, “I don’t bite.”

“I wasn’t, no,” she admitted, her voice small.

He sighed. “I suppose it was too much to ask.” He set his hands down on the counter, looking at her intently. She paused under his scrutiny, a chunk of bread in her fingers falling to rest against the granite. “What do you plan to do, Evelyn?”

She found herself unable to meet his gaze. She wasn’t being fair to him; she knew that. He’d protected her, taken her to Kirkwall; he’d fed her and offered to have his friends help get back upon her feet. She half felt that she was throwing his generosity in his face by rejecting his offers. Was that what she was doing?

“Evelyn?” She looked up into a pair of serious brown eyes. “I must know,” he said quietly. “I cannot linger in the city.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

He ran a hand over his face in frustration, and guilt welled up inside her.

She wasn’t normally indecisive. If anything, her mother had accused her of being too decisive in the past. _You are rash, child, impulsive_ , Lila had once said. _One of these days you are going to jump only to find there is nothing for you to land on._ She shook her head; if only her mother could see her now. What would Lila Trevelyan say when she saw her brash daughter paralyzed with indecision and doubt?

“Come with me.”

*

“Come with me,” he said again when Evelyn didn’t reply, more firmly this time. He leaned down against the counter, watching her wide-eyed face carefully. “It makes sense, right? The Templars said that your brother went to Ferelden. I imagine he’s gone to Haven - that’s where the Divine is holding the Conclave. I just so happen to be going there as well.” He reached across the counter to grab a bunch of grapes from the bowl, easily popping one into his mouth. Still, she was silent.

Perhaps the offer had been too sudden. She barely knew him, after all; she might be wary of the suggestion despite his good intentions. Or maybe she was growing tired of his company; he held no illusions about his flippant remarks, well aware that he could get under people’s skins. Was that it?

Evelyn sniffled.

Hawke froze, looking up at her through his shaggy bangs. Her head was hanging low, so he couldn’t see her face. Had he… perhaps he had misheard? But no, there it was again; a slight, barely discernable sniffle.

 _Maker’s breath, you made her cry_ , he thought. _Dammit, Garrett!_

But what had he done? He’d offered to help her! Shit, he was no good in these sorts of situations. This was why he’d taken Varric on so many missions! The dwarf was the perfect exemplar of the comforting, elderly brother. Varric was the one who’d comforted the people they’d saved, not Hawke. And certainly none of the others - Carver and Fenris didn’t exactly inspire warm, fuzzy feelings.

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, uncertain of what to do. Evelyn must have heard his movements, for her hand darted out to wipe her eyes. She looked up at him cautiously; upon seeing that he was looking at her, she ducked her head low again, refusing to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically, nearly choking over his words. He reached out for her hesitantly and thought better of it mid-way through the motion. His hand fell limply to the counter. “Evelyn…”

Well. This had gone better in his head.

“It’s nothing,” she said thickly, shaking her head. “I’m just…” She waved a hand around wildly. At his blank stare, she sighed.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked hesitantly.

That made her look at her. “No!” she said emphatically. She looked away, embarrassed at her vehemence, and continued, “No. You didn’t do anything.”

“But you’re crying,” he pointed out.

“I’m aware of that!” she snapped. The fire in her words was dampened by the watery sniffle that followed them.

“Then-”

“Nothing’s wrong!”

He sighed, letting the matter drop. If she didn’t want to talk to him, she didn’t have to. He could understand that. He walked over to the where he knew Orana kept the spare dishrags, pulling open the drawer to find one to wipe his fingers clean. What he wouldn’t give for a bath! But there wasn’t time, for they needed to find a ship to take them to Ferelden today. The journey to Kirkwall had already taken longer than he’d expected. Though she was a capable rider, Evelyn simply wasn’t used to being in the saddle all day; he’d slowed their pace to make the trip easier for her, but now he was eager to be on his way.

A warm hand fell on his arm.

Hawke turned to find Evelyn standing behind him, her impossibly small fingers on his skin. “I can’t… I don’t want to do this for free,” she said quietly. She shook her head. “I won’t. You’ve already done so much for me in just helping me get here; I owe you a debt, one I can’t ignore.”

“Evelyn-”

“No, Hawke,” she interjected. She did look up at him then, and the determination on her face took him aback. “Is there something I can help you with? I don’t have much to offer, but I want to help you in some way.”

Ah.

She wanted reciprocation.

He understood then, her reaction to his offer made all the more clear now. She didn’t like that the idea that he was taking care of her, like she were some fragile, breakable thing. She didn’t want to feel as if she were a burden, that he was helping her because she couldn’t do this on her own. The thought hadn’t occurred to him before. He’d never once thought her a damsel who needed rescuing; not after he’d seen her meld fire to her will in their fight against the foreign mages, and certainly not after she’d saved his own hide.

But if she felt that way...

Well, if she wanted to help, he certainly wasn’t one to turn down an offer.

“Come to think of it, there is a way you can help me.”

She looked up at him eagerly. “Yes?”

“We’re going to be heading into territory directly controlled by the Chantry,” he explained, “and more and more clerics are going to be arriving for the Conclave. That means that a lot of people who would love to throw me in a prison to rot will be gathered together in one spot.”

“You’ll have to be inconspicuous,” she guessed.

“Exactly,” he agreed. “More than that - I might not be able to get into Haven at all. Someone might notice me. I can disguise myself, but only to a certain extent. Never did have much talent for subterfuge.” He pointed at her. “You, on the other hand, are completely unknown to them. No one will recognize you. I’d wager you can slip in and out of the city with no one the wiser! And better yet, you’re a mage who’s never been tethered to the Chantry; the Templars have no reason to be suspicious of you.”

“And even if they do catch me using magic, they won’t be able to track me,” she added.

He nodded. “Because you have no phylactery.”

“So, I would sneak into Haven and help rescue your friend… perhaps on my own,” she said slowly, adding the pieces up in her mind, “and in return, you’d help me get to my brother.”

“It will be dangerous,” he warned, “And there’s a good chance we’ll have to fight our way into the area. I haven’t any idea what to expect. It won’t be easy.”

“I’ve never fought people before,” she said hesitantly. “Other than when those mages attacked us, of course.”

“I can help with that,” he said quickly, “give you a few pointers.” She accepted that, nodding. “And you could tell me how you work _your_ magic in return.”

She sent him a puzzled look. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I’ve always been interested in seeing how Rivaini mages work,” he admitted. “Each land in Thedas teaches mages in slightly different ways. I learned from my father, who was taught at the Kirkwall Circle before he escaped. And you learned from your mother, trained by Rivaini seers. I’d be curious to see how you operate, observe your technique.”

“I can do that,” she replied. “I’m not sure how much there is to learn, but I can tell you what I know, what my mother taught me. That would be fair.” She nodded then, as if confirming this to herself, and held out her tiny hand. “Deal?”

“You’re sure?” he asked. He attempted to use as serious a tone as possible. Taking her to Ferelden was one thing. Involving her in his attempt to rescue Varric was quite another. She needed to be absolutely certain that she was alright with this arrangement.

He needn’t have worried. “I am,” she said resolutely, her earlier doubts gone.

He relaxed then and took her hand within his own, smiling.

“Deal. Now let’s go find us a boat.”

*

Evelyn moaned against him, clutching at his arms for support.

“Hawke,” she murmured, clenching her eyes shut.

He looked down at her green face, amused. “Regretting that deal we made?” he joked.

“I hate you,” she snapped. “And boats.”

He clapped her on the back. “Come on, you,” he said, pushing her away from him and towards the stairs. “Let’s get you some air.”

The seasickness had started halfway through the first day. The seas had been getting rougher as they’d gotten farther away from land, and Evelyn’s body had protested most fiercely. She’d been violently sick all through the night, and the second day hadn’t been much better. Now, four days into the voyage, and she had nothing left in her system to expel. Hawke felt bad that she’d taken so poorly to the sea; sailing had never bothered him.

He had to suppress a snicker when Evelyn hit the deck and crawled over to the railing, poking her head out between two of the posts. She made it just in time; no sooner was her head above the water then she began dry heaving away.

 _Don’t laugh_ , he told himself. _It’s not funny._

Well. It kind of was.

He came to sit beside her, tucking his legs underneath him.

Finished for the moment, she leaned back on her haunches, letting her forehead rest against the deck. “I hate the sea,” she groaned. The boat hit a rough wave then, and a burst of seawater sprayed up into her face. She jerked back with a start, spluttering indignantly.

He _did_ laugh at that, unable to help himself. “If it’s any consolation,” he replied, “it seems to hate you too!”

She glared over at him, hair and face dripping wet. “Why would that make me feel better?” she demanded.

He ignored her question as he reached into a pocket and drew out a handkerchief and pressed it into her palm. “Here.”

She stared at it for a moment before dabbing her face with it. “You keep handkerchiefs in your pockets?” she asked flatly. Her face now dry, she handed it back to him.

“Don’t mock the handkerchief!” he said sharply. She raised an eyebrow at him. “You never know when you’ll need one,” he continued, “And one can never have too clean of hands when dining with Antivans.”

“I’ll remember that,” she muttered, moving to put her back to the railing.

“It’s sound advice.”

Evelyn winced as they hit another rough patch of water. “How much longer until we reach Ferelden?” she asked.

“Just a few more days,” he replied.

She nodded, closing her eyes and tipping her head back so that the sun warmed her face. “I hope it’s nice there,” she murmured. “Though anything’s better than the sea.”

“Don’t tell Isabela that,” he snorted. “She might stab you.”

“Let her,” Evelyn retorted. “It would feel better than I do right now.” She paused, seeming to fight back another wave of nausea. “Where are we landing?”

“Amaranthine,” he replied. “From there, we’ll get horses and ride south to Haven.”

“Is it far?”

He shrugged. “It’s a fair distance, but I plan on moving quickly,” he said. He would have to, if he were to rescue Varric before someone attempted to harm him. He eyed her. “Are you up for it?”

She opened an eye. “Get me back on land and I’ll be just fine,” she said. “I promise.”

“Are you going to fall off your horse again?”

“I never fell off my horse!” she snapped. “That was _you_!”

“Oh, right.” He smirked. “You have to admit, though, you were close to nodding off a few times. I seem to recall having to put you in front of me to keep you sitting up straight.”

“You mean it wasn’t just for the pleasure of my company?” she retorted.

“You did smell nice,” he agreed. “Though you’re damn bony.”

She gave him an odd look. “You smelled me?” she asked.

“Well, when you put it that way, it just sounds creepy,” he said flatly.

“Sorry,” she murmured, looking down.

“It’s not a bad smell,” he said quickly, sensing that he’d made her uncomfortable. “It’s spicy… cinnamon, ginger… cloves, maybe?” He nodded. “Yes, cloves.”

“Don’t mention spices,” she said weakly, arms clutching her stomach.

“Too soon?”

“Very.”

He pushed himself to his feet then, dusting his trousers off with his hands. “Going to sit in the sun for a while?” he asked. She nodded weakly. “I’m going to talk to the captain.”

“Tell her to make us go faster.”

He snorted. “Not sure she can do much about that,” he admitted. “But I’ll mention it.” He turned then, heading in the direction of the captain’s cabin. A lounging sailor eyed him as he approached.

“Oy,” the man called out. Hawke turned to look at him. “Wouldn’t go in there if I was you.”

“Why ever not?” Hawke asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Captain don’t like strangers.”

Hawke smiled. “Oh, I’m not a stranger,” he replied.

The sailor eyed him suspiciously. “Suit yourself,” he muttered. “It’s your burial.”

Hawke walked past him and tapped his knuckles against the door. When there was no answer, he opened one and let himself inside.

The cabin was dim compared to the brightness of the deck; he blinked his eyes furiously, attempting to adjust. A table stood before him, navigational maps spread across its surface. He recognized a few figures – the vague outlines of the coasts of northern Ferelden and the southern Free Marches, circles drawn to indicate ports, the few islands that lay within the Waking Sea. But much of the maps were gibberish to him – scrawling blue lines and arrows pointing in seemingly random directions.

He would be terrible as a navigator.

A pair of warm arms encircled him from behind, a head falling onto his shoulder. The familiar scent of musk, wine, and flowers enveloped his senses as she tapped her cheek against his.

“Hello, Hawke.” A hand snaked its way down his chest, toying with the buckle of his belt.

He turned, deftly extricating himself from her grasp before she managed to grope him. She made a moue of disappointment at the loss of contact.

“Trying to grope me before I’ve ever had a chance to say hello?” he chided. “Come on, Izzy.”

She stepped back with a shrug. “I’m not sorry.”

He snorted, not doubting her for a second.

“You never are.”

“So.” She walked around the table, coming to a stop on the far side. “Sneaking into my cabin, are we? My, my, Hawke - if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.” She flashed him a grin.

“Did it work?” he asked, lowering his voice.

She snorted. “Glib as ever,” she muttered. She leaned forward, allowing her breasts to nearly spill from the confines of her corset as she tapped one of the maps. He was sure she’d done it on purpose. “If you’re not here to seduce me, I can only imagine you want to talk. So talk. What’s in Ferelden that you have to get there so quickly?”

Hawke crossed his arms over his chest. “Varric.”

“I figured as much,” Isabela said, nodding. Hawke shot her a look, and she shrugged again. “I heard he’d been taken prisoner. Would have helped him myself, but I have contracts to uphold. That and I knew you’d come to his rescue, gallant knight that you are.”

He peered over his shoulder to make sure the door was closed behind them. This conversation was to be for their ears only. “What do you know of this Inquisition?” he asked.

“Other than that they officially don’t exist yet?” Isabela asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Not much. Strictly speaking, there is no Inquisition - it’s just a possibility the Divine has thrown around as a solution to the war.”

“But it’s real.”

“Oh, it’s very real,” she agreed.

“Do you know who’s leading it?”

“You mean who’s taken Varric prisoner?” She grinned at him. “Unfortunately, no. All I know is that they’re trying to get to _you_. Rumor has it they were asking questions at every bar in Lowtown before they caught Varric.”

He grimaced. “I know.”

“And you intend to free him.”

“Hawke to the rescue,” he replied, shooting her a weak smile.

“My hero,” she crooned. She stood up a little straighter then, crossing her arms over her chest. “So who’s the girl?” He fidgeted, unsure of what to tell her, and Isabela chuckled at his discomfort. “Come now, you didn’t think you could bring another girl on my ship and not have me notice her, did you?”

He’d hoped. But he should have known better.

“Her name is Evelyn,” he sighed. “She… well, I had a little mishap on the road from Antiva. Her family took me in. Skipping over all of the mundane details and inane babble - her family’s village was set afire, she was separated from them, we haven’t the foggiest clue where they are, and now she’s traveling with me to the south to find her brother. We think that he and Varric may be in the same city.”

Isabela stared at him for a moment, digesting the onslaught of information. “Nothing is ever simple with you, do you know that?” she asked finally.

He snorted. “Believe me,” he replied, “I know it.”

“She’s pretty.”

“Izzy…”

“Yes, yes, no _touching_ ,” she drawled. “You and your rules.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

“She’s been through a lot lately,” he said. “She doesn’t need you groping her.”

“Didn’t look like there was much to grope,” Isabela muttered flatly.

“Be nice.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, Mother.” She held her hands up. “I won’t touch the pretty lady.” She grinned then. “Besides. You have first dibs.”

He laughed. “First dibs?”

“Don’t you?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. He stared at her blankly, and she scowled. “Oh, come now, Hawke, you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed her. She’s lovely!”

“I… noticed,” he said, slowly.

“And you like her.” Isabela grinned, sensing weakness.

“I barely know her!”

“But you wouldn’t be doing this for just anybody,” she insisted. “Taking her halfway across the world just to find her brother… either you like her, or you owe her big time.”

“I seem to recall doing a lot more for people I knew a lot less!” he protested. He didn’t like what she was insinuating - not one bit. His intentions were perfectly honorable.

“Oh?” She paused. “Name one.”

“Fenris? Anders? Every other damn person in Kirkwall?”

“... you have me there.”

“I don’t owe her anything,” he snapped, irritated at her suggestions that he was doing this for less than perfectly ethical reasons. “And she doesn’t owe me anything either. I need help getting into Haven and rescuing Varric; she needs help getting to her brother. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, and that’s all there is to it!”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she purred.

“Maker forbid I do a good deed every now and then in between killing Tevinter blood mages and crazy, lyrium-addled Templars!”

“Yes, yes,” she said, waving a hand. “It’s terribly good of you. Now, if you’re insisting this isn’t something naughty, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. While I was delighted to see your handsome face on the docks in Kirkwall, you've put me terribly behind schedule. I _do_ have a ship to sail.”

“Try not to hit any rocks,” he said hotly, turning on his heel.

“Fuck you!” she said sweetly.

“You wish!” he threw back over his shoulder. He breathed in deeply through his nose as he stepped back out onto the deck. Maker take that woman! He loved her dearly, but damn, if she didn’t know how to egg him on. He took a few more deep breaths, steadying himself. He didn’t want Evelyn to see him like this, all angry and flustered. She’d ask questions, and an interrogation was the last thing he needed right now.

The sailor from before chuckled. Hawke looked over to him, raising his eyebrows.

“I told you,” he said, chortling, “The captain doesn't like strangers.”

“I’m not a - never mind,” Hawke muttered. He stalked off then, eager to be rid of the man’s infuriating laughter. It chased him all the way back to Evelyn, maddeningly loud in his ears.

Damn pirates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> As always, I like hearing your thoughts on the chapter! :)


	5. Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Evelyn reach Amaranthine and begin to travel south to Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a filler chapter here, but necessary for the plot.
> 
> And some PG+ action here too!

Evelyn was so happy to see land she could have kissed the pebbles that crunched beneath her boots as she wobbled off the ship’s deck. She very nearly did. Hawke laughed at her as she sagged against a nearby fence in relief, but she was too happy to care. Let him laugh if he wanted. She was back on land, and that was all that mattered.

Isabela, their ship’s captain, called him over then. She had an odd look on her face, her arms crossed over her breasts. As Hawke shrugged and went to see what she wanted, Evelyn took the opportunity to look around at the port of Amaranthine. People were everywhere, but it wasn’t as busy as Kirkwall. Sailors were unloading and loading cargo from ships; heavy boxes of goods were piled high atop the docks, officials furiously scribbling down the details of each shipment as it was secured. Off to the side was a bustling fish market, fishermen hawking their catches as people passed; she wrinkled her nose at the smell and turned her face away.

The city of Amaranthine was rather large, houses lining well-trodden streets. Imposing walls surrounded the city, several towers manned by heavily armored guards. She recognized a Chantry building, and several inns decorated the main square, merchant stalls parked outside their doors. Perhaps some of them had real food on offer; there wasn’t much she wouldn’t give for a bowl of something hot.

She looked up as Hawke jostled her elbow. “Ready?”

She nodded. “What did Isabela want?” she asked, following Hawke’s lead up into the square.

He snorted. “Nothing,” he muttered. “She’s just… being Isabela.” He pointed to a stall selling stew in bowls made of thick, crusty bread. “Hungry?”

Her mouth was already watering. “Yes,” she replied eagerly.

They got into the line and waited their turn for the stew. Hawke handed her one and then jerked his head to the side, pulling her away from the area. Evelyn followed him, already busy ladling the stew into her mouth. It was so hot it almost burned her tongue, but _damn_ , it was delicious. The slight pain was still oh-so-worth it.

“I want to get a move on as quickly as possible,” he said once they’d found a more secluded spot against the side of a building. “We’ll need to find someone selling horses first.” She nodded, too busy with another bite of stew to answer properly. “Are you coming with me?”

She blinked in confusion. “Where else would I go?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I thought you might want to look around,” he replied.

She thought about it for a moment as they quietly continued to eat. The opportunity to stretch out her legs after so long cooped up in a ship’s hold was appealing. And this was a city unlike any she had ever seen, Ferelden an entirely new experience. But she hadn’t any money; any exploration she did would have to be entirely observational. She would have to be careful as well; the Chantry’s presence indicated Templars, and there were no doubt others who’d take the chance to harass a small woman walking about alone.

Still…

“I think I’ll do that,” she said, nodding.

“I’ll meet you back here in a few hours,” Hawke replied. He disappeared into the crowds with a wave farewell.

Evelyn finished eating soon after, wiping the crumbs from her hands on her trousers. She looked around the main square, nervous excitement making her fidget.

Where to begin?

She set off around the square, looking at the goods various merchants had on offer. Hunters hawked pelts of wolf, rabbit, and bear, and herbalists shouted about the uses of elfroot and embrium. She paused at the herb stalls, looking over the tiny, dried plants. She recognized some, but others were unfamiliar to her, their pungent odors mingling in the air. It wasn’t unpleasant, but she forced herself to move along when the owner of one such stall snapped at her to buy something or leave.

She passed under an archway into another smaller square. This area was quieter, and the stalls were filled with armor and arms. Bows were the most popular, though swords weren’t far behind. As she looked upon the polished wooden weapons, she again wished that her father had taught her to use one. Adrian Trevelyan had been skilled at hunting, perhaps the most able in their entire village. He’d taught many of the young boys how to provide from themselves, not just his own sons. But he’d always been reluctant to take her; her mother had told her it was because she was his only daughter.

It had always seemed like more of a silly excuse and less of a logical reason to her.

Evelyn turned another corner and stopped. Directly ahead of her was the Chantry; it was much smaller than the one she’d visited in Ostwick, and much less ostentatious. The statues here were simpler, the figure of Andraste a fierce warrior instead of merely a beautiful figurehead. A Chanter’s board stood outside the door, notices and pleas for help pinned to the wooden surface. A few of Amaranthine’s destitute were loitering around the outside, huddling over themselves for warmth in the cool air.

She did not go inside.

Her father had once explained the Andrastian faith to her; he had prayed to the Maker every day for guidance and strength, and read portions of the Canticles from his worn copy each night before he went to bed. But Evelyn did not believe in his god. She never had, to be truthful. The teachings had seemed strange to her, contradictory to what her mother had told her of the Natural Order in which the Rivaini believed. And the Chantry’s attitudes towards magic were appalling; she could not rightfully follow a religion that damned her for simply being who she was.

Edric believed in the Maker, though his opinions on magic were more liberal than most. Ewan believed too – to a degree, at least; he was more the type who prayed when it was convenient and didn’t bother the rest of the time. But she and her mother had quietly abstained from such practice.

“May I help you, child?”

Evelyn started, turning to the source of the question – an elderly woman dressed in fading Chantry robes. Her expression was not unkind. “Ah, no, thank you,” she said quickly. “I was… just walking around the city.”

The woman nodded once in understanding. “Is this your first time in Ferelden?”

She smiled weakly at the woman. “Is it that obvious?” she asked, forcing her hands behind her back so that she wouldn’t fiddle with them.

The woman returned the smile, though a strange glint appeared in her steely gray eyes. “You do have a certain look about you,” she replied.

Evelyn didn’t know how to interpret that. Did she really stick out that badly? She looked down at her clothes, trying to determine if they were strange. But underneath a thin jacket, she was wearing a simple shirt and trousers, tucked into well-worn boots. It was much the same as many other people were wearing, and in the same color palette of brown and gray. It couldn’t have been her clothing.

Perhaps it was a comment on her expression? Was she wondering around like a wide-eyed child? She certainly hoped not.

“And where have you come to us from, child?” the woman pressed, drawing Evelyn from her thoughts.

Evelyn frowned; she didn’t like the tone in the other woman’s voice, or the fact that she’d called her a child. When her mother called her that, it always seemed a moniker of affection. But when this woman said it… it sounded condescending, and slightly hostile, despite her friendly demeanor. “Ostwick,” she said flatly, figuring that was close enough to the truth.

“Ah! I thought - well, I'm clearly mistaken!” The woman laughed as if she’d made a joke. Evelyn bristled at the unspoken slur, but said nothing as the old woman continued. “But Ostwick is a lovely city! I traveled there once or twice in my youth. And the Chantry there is simply magnificent. Did you go there often? Tell me, child, did you ever happen to meet a sister by the name of Gwyneth at the Ostwick Chantry?”

“Well, no, I-”

“She was a dear friend of mine when I was young,” the woman continued, as if she hadn’t heard Evelyn. “Sadly, she disliked Fereldan winters, and as she grew older, her joints started protesting the cold. She moved north to escape the snows. And you never met her?”

“No,” Evelyn snapped, finally able to get a word in. She was beginning to dislike this woman and her questioning. “I didn’t go to the Chantry very often.”

The woman stiffened at her tone, eyes going cold. “And why not?” she asked.

“Never found a reason,” Evelyn huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“The Maker is not just an ear to listen to your woes, child,” the woman said disapprovingly. “He is to be worshipped at all times, not only when you have need of him.”

“That assumes I even believe he exists,” Evelyn retorted, scowling.

The woman raised an eyebrow coolly. “You deny his existence then?”

“I don’t believe in him, no,” Evelyn replied.

“Well.” The woman clasped her hands in front of her, inclining her head ever so slightly in the direction of the Chantry doors. “Our doors are always open, should you decide to seek the truth.”

“The truth?” Evelyn snorted.

“As professed by all _civilized_ nations and their people,” the woman said proudly.

Evelyn’s cheeks heated; that time the slur hadn’t been quite so implicit. She hated the smug look of satisfaction on the other woman’s face; she must have known she’d gotten under Evelyn’s skin. _Time to get out of here_ , she thought to herself.

She made to return to the main square, but the woman caught her arm as she passed, her grip surprisingly strong for her age. Evelyn’s magic surged in response, but she refused to let it gain control over her. “Enjoy your time in Ferelden, child,” she said, her voice sickeningly sweet.

Evelyn jerked her hand away. “I plan on it,” she snapped.

“May the Maker watch over you.” The woman’s fingernails were biting into the skin of Evelyn’s arm now, and she had to wrench herself out of her grip. She staggered on a stray cobblestone, nearly falling, and glared over her shoulder. The Sister was staring at her with a smug look on her face, as if her clumsiness was some sign from her divinity to recant her nonbelief. She shoved her hands in her pockets and turned on her heel, unwilling to give the woman any more satisfaction.

The encounter at the Chantry had ended her curiosity for the day. She couldn’t look at the stalls and storefronts with the same sort of openness as she had before. Were the owners looking at her funny? Was she imagining things? No, they couldn’t be; the old woman’s words must have gotten to her and made her overly paranoid of being different in this strange new land. There was no reason to stare at her.

Her anger dissipated in the face of her confusion, and she sank against the building from earlier with relief. The stone was cool on her back, but it was solid, comforting. She tucked her knees in close to her chest, resting her chin upon one knee.

It was about an hour before Hawke returned. She’d managed to doze off, eyes half-shut as she’d stared out upon the square. He knocked his foot into hers, and she jerked awake, sitting up straight. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Nothing interesting to see?” he asked.

“No,” she said flatly, pushing herself to her feet.

He studied her for a moment, working through her terse answer. Finally, he shrugged and bade her to follow him down a street towards the city walls. After about fifteen minutes, they passed through the city gate; the houses here were wood instead of stone, but stood closer together, pressed in tight against each other as if they were people huddling over a fire for warmth. Dirty children were running through the muddy streets, causing chickens and geese to squawk at them indignantly. The sight reminded her of her village, and her irritation abated as the fond memories of her home hit her.

Hawke led them to a grubby man standing outside a poorly constructed corral. A few horses stood inside the fencing, their coats rough and shaggy for the impending winter season. He nodded to the man and pressed a small sack of coins into his hands. The man hefted it, as if to test its weight, before nodding in return and allowing them access to the pen.

“So. I have good news and bad news.”

Evelyn looked over at Hawke warily. “What’s the good news?” she asked.

“I found a horse!”

“…and the bad?”

“I found _one_ horse.”

She frowned. “So what am I supposed to ride?” she asked.

“Well, we have two options,” he replied. “You can either ride with me, and hope that we don’t overburden the horse. Or you can ride that.” She followed the length of his finger as he pointed to a small pony at the back of the corral.

“A pony,” she said flatly.

“Yes, I know, it’s not ideal,” he said quickly, “But it’s of a strong mountain breed. The Avvar who live there have used them for centuries. They’re quite sturdy!”

Evelyn walked around the pen to look at the animal more closely. She had to admit, it did look sturdy, its stocky legs supporting a barrel chest. It was pretty too, its dappled gray coat contrasting nicely with its black mane and tail. She reached a hand towards it tentatively; it sniffed her twice, and then huffed out a breath, shaking its head.

“Think he likes you, miss,” the owner of the corral said suddenly. Evelyn looked up at him. “Normally bites at the first chance he gets, that one does.”

She turned back to the pony; it was staring at her with its large, brown eyes. “You wouldn’t bite me,” she murmured, reaching out to it again. It huffed again as she touched it, but allowed her to pet it nonetheless. She smiled, and looked back over her shoulder at Hawke. “I’ll take the pony.”

*

Evelyn decided to name the pony Cloud. Not only did it fit the animal’s stormy coloring, but it matched his temperament as well. Though the creature seemed quite happy with her, it wasn’t nearly so fond of Hawke. He tried to bite the mage at every opportunity, and had nearly kicked him once. She found it all rather amusing.

They rode hard for several days, avoiding the main roads. Hawke set a relentless pace, stopping only when it became too dark to see the ground ahead of them. At first, Evelyn had worried that Cloud wouldn’t be able to keep up with the larger bay horse that Hawke had bought for himself. But her trepidation had proved short-lived; if anything, the pony seemed more sure of itself on the rocky terrain that its larger counterpart, and what it lacked in size it seemed determined to make up for in grit.

The landscape slowly began to shift as they continued southward, the rocky coastlands transforming before her eyes. A giant chain of mountains lay to the west, icy and forbidding even at this distance. To the east, vast plains lay before them, stretching on for leagues and leagues. When she had first noticed the change, she’d hoped that the cold air would leave along with the smell of the sea. But instead, it had gotten even colder, the air biting her skin, each blast leaving her shuddering.

The cold didn’t seem to bother Hawke, despite the fact that his armor left one arm completely bare. She asked him about it once when they’d stopped for the night, a cold drizzling rain making the journey thoroughly miserable.

“The cold?” He’d merely shrugged at her question. “I suppose I hadn’t noticed.”

“Hadn’t noticed?” she’d retorted. “It’s freezing!”

“Technically, it’s not _that_ cold,” he’d replied.

“How do you figure?”

“It’s raining. If it were freezing, it’d be snowing.”

She’d rolled her eyes and burrowed deep into the blankets of her bedroll, hoping that the rain would be gone come morning. To her surprise she had gotten her wish, the sun shining bright and clear in the early light. Another surprise had been the thick, fur-lined cloak lying atop her. She’d been bewildered, the piece of clothing unfamiliar to her. But then Hawke had announced he’d gone to a nearby town to restock some of their supplies, and she’d understood.

She’d not been able to thank him. She hadn’t found the words. When she’d tried to awkwardly mumble out some kind of appreciation, Hawke had waved a hand and forestalled her, telling her that they needed to get a move on.

But he’d known that she was grateful for the gesture. She could tell.

*

They stopped earlier than usual that night.

Hawke was pleased with their progress thus far. They’d make good time heading south from Amaranthine, their cross-country path more direct than the curvilinear route the roads offered. In avoiding known thoroughfares, he estimated they’d saved roughly a day’s time on the road to Haven. It was enough to warrant a few more hours of sleep that night.

Evelyn dismounted behind him, her footfalls heavy against the dirt. He looked back over his shoulder at her, instantly taking note of her stooped posture and weary stance. Yes, a bit more rest would do them both good.

“Why are we stopping so soon?” she asked, coming to stand beside him.

He shrugged. “We’re close to Haven now,” he replied. “A few more days, and we’ll be practically knocking on their front door.”

“Shouldn’t that make you want to travel faster?”

She had a point. “Well… maybe.”

_Articulate, Garrett. Nice._

She raised an eyebrow at him, but headed to a nearby tree and tethered her pony.

They quickly fell into the routine they’d established for setting up camp – he dug a pit and gathered some wood for the fire while she undid the animals’ saddles and checked them over for burrs in their fur and rocks in their hooves. It was quick work for the both of them, and soon they were laying out their bedrolls and eating their simple fare of bread and cheese.

“Are you nervous?”

Evelyn’s question caught him off-guard. “Not particularly,” he replied, moving his staff so that it lay a little closer to him on the ground. “After facing down a Qunari twice your size and three times as mean, nothing really fazes you anymore.”

She chuckled. “Good point,” she said.

“I’m more worried about what they might have done to Varric,” he admitted. He lay back, propping himself up on one elbow. He sighed, his muscles appreciative of the new position.

“You think they’ve harmed him?” Evelyn asked, cocking her head to one side.

“I don’t know,” he said. “And that bothers me.”

She fell silent, and he chanced a glance at her. Though she was obviously weary, she remained seated, eyes pensive as they stared into the fire. The cloak he had bought her was clutched in her hands, drawn close around her small frame. He’d been humbled at how the small gift had moved her; he could have sworn she’d had tears in her eyes as she’d approached him. He’d dismissed it as nothing before he could think, but it was hard to deny that her gratitude had affected him.

She wasn’t used to getting gifts then.

“These people who have taken him,” he said suddenly. Evelyn’s viridian eyes flicked up to him. “Their intentions are… surprisingly decent, I think.”

Her brows snapped down. “They kidnapped your friend,” she pointed out.

“Well, other than that,” he huffed. “Rumor has it the Divine is attempting to form a new Inquisition to end the war between the mages and the Templars.”

“An Inquisition? Like the one that followed the First Blight?”

“I would think so,” he said. “Like the first one, the aim will be to restore order.”

“And why would they want Varric?”

“To chronicle their achievements?” he guessed wryly. He shook his head. “I have a feelings it’s to get to me. It's widely known that Varric is a friend of mine.”

Evelyn didn’t reply for a moment. Hawke could tell that she wanted to ask a question by the way that she was biting her lip, the way her brow was quivering. He watched her patiently, waiting for her to put voice to her thoughts.

“You say that you had a hand in the mage rebellion,” she began. Her voice was cautious, as if she feared he would get angry if she worded things incorrectly. “What… well, what exactly do you mean by that? You weren’t the mage who blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall.”

“I wasn’t,” he agreed, “But I knew him. Befriended him. Even bought him a cat.”

“A cat?”

“He’s fond of them,” Hawke said. He sighed, thinking on how best to answer her question. Where to begin? “Anders was taken to the Circle as a young boy, but he didn’t like it there.” He snorted. “Alright, that’s an understatement. He _hated_ it there, and for good reason. You’ve heard of the injustices committed against mages, yes?” She nodded darkly. “He tried to escape multiple times, and each time he was caught. Several times he was put in solitary confinement for days at a time as punishment. I fear there were harsher punishments as well, but we never openly spoke of such things.”

“How did he get out?”

“As luck would have it, the Hero of Ferelden found him, after he escaped the Circle for the last time,” he replied. “She recruited him into the Grey Wardens, and in so doing created a shield between him and the Templars who wanted to return him to the Circle. I believe she also helped him destroy his phylactery, but I’m not sure. I never asked.”

“But you met him in Kirkwall,” Evelyn said. She finally laid herself down on her bedroll, stretching out along her stomach. “Why was he living in Kirkwall?”

“To be honest, Anders didn’t want to be a Grey Warden,” he admitted. “He liked the idea at first, thought that perhaps his days of being hunted were over. But it’s not so easy, especially for mages like him. He never felt safe in Ferelden, always fearing someone would come to take him back to the Circle. He fled to Kirkwall after helping the Hero put down a darkspawn uprising back in the Coastlands.”

“And then he met you,” she guessed.

“And was forever bettered by my presence,” he joked. Evelyn rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

“What was he like?”

“Anders?”

“The stories all paint him as this terrible, evil mage,” she remarked. “He allowed himself to be possessed and used the spirit’s power to destroy the Chantry.” She shook her head. “But… he was your friend.” She looked up at him then. “You wouldn’t befriend someone so terrible as all that.”

“He’s not evil,” Hawke said firmly. “Not at all. Anders is a healer; he likes taking care of people. He enjoys helping others. Maker, he sets out milk for stray cats. Those who call him evil are just looking for a scapegoat.” He snorted.

“The war was a long time coming,” she agreed.

“Anders was just the catalyst that set off the chain reaction,” he said. “If anything, I played a larger part than he did.” He paused, staring up at the night sky for a moment to gather his thoughts. “When the Chantry exploded, Knight-Commander Meredith wanted to blame the mages; she planned on administering the Rite of Annulment and making all of the mages in Kirkwall’s Circle Tranquil.”

Evelyn made an appalled noise, of which he wholeheartedly approved. “I refused to let that happen,” he continued. “Together, my friends and I fought against the Templars who sided with Meredith. The mages from the Circle helped us, and thus it became a rebellion.”

“Some of the Templars wouldn’t fight you?”

“A few refused, yes,” he replied. “Her second-in-command for one. Rutherford. Rather dull fellow, but I’ll take the good Templars when I can get them. Others followed once he stood up for what was right.”

“I’m glad,” she said. He looked over to her, surprised. “I like knowing that there are good Templars out there,” she explained. “Their purpose isn’t entirely evil, I don’t think.”

“Perhaps not,” he allowed. He wasn’t as sure as Evelyn. He had witnessed too much at the hands of the Templars to be as confident in them as she seemed to be. Nor did he have a Templar brother to influence his opinion on the order.

Evelyn didn’t reply, and so he closed his eyes and settled into the blankets, the quiet crackling of the fire the only discernable noise. He began to drift off to sleep, his mind beginning to go hazy.

“Why do they want you?”

Hawke opened his eyes at the sudden question. He turned his head to find Evelyn openly staring at him. She had not moved at all in the past few moments, still stretched out along her stomach, legs twisted together in the air. Her hands were folded under a cheek, her green eyes narrowed in thought. The firelight was dancing upon her skin, accentuating her sharp, angular face. For a moment, he was captivated by the way the light played upon her skin, gracefully flitting across her features.

“Hawke?”

He blinked, and the spell was broken. “Probably to kill me,” he replied automatically. “That tends to be the reason people want to find me.” He forced himself to look away from her, lest he be drawn in again.

Again, she didn’t respond, and he wondered if his flippant answer had been too much. He snuck another glance at her, but she was no longer looking at him. Her gaze had dropped to the fire.

“I don’t want them to kill you,” she murmured.

He could’ve laughed the comment off, given her a glib response about how he too didn’t want them to kill him. Were he with his friends, he likely would have done just that. But it didn’t feel appropriate at the moment, not after such a heavy conversation.

“I won’t let them kill me,” he said instead, his voice soft but firm.

Evelyn looked up at him then; she stared at him for a moment, and then her face broke out into a soft, sweet smile. “Don’t you dare,” she warned. “I can’t have you dying on me just yet. You still have to get me to my brother.”

He grinned. “Duly noted.”

She rolled over onto her back and climbed beneath the blankets then, facing the fire as she curled into a ball. “Good night, Hawke,” she murmured, slipping a hand under her head.

He murmured a response before slipping a hand behind his head, laying the other over his stomach. The night sky was cloudy above them, the moon and stars obscured for the time being. They spoke of rain tomorrow, perhaps even snow. He hoped that inclement weather wouldn’t be a problem on the final leg of their trip. They were so close now.

He needed to see about giving Evelyn some pointers in fighting. He’d not made any attempts thus far to train her, merely trying to get to Haven as quickly as possible. Now that they were close, though… it was time to see what she could do. Perhaps he could delay leaving in the morning, practice with her for a few hours. Yes, that was a good idea. He would do that.

He worried about her facing down enemies. From what he’d seen in their prior fight, Evelyn had a good grasp on her magic. She was skilled enough to blast her enemies with a wall of fire and throw fireballs with the merest of gestures; those weren’t techniques a novice could perform. But at the same time, she wasn’t used to fighting people; she’d gone into shock after they’d killed the foreign mages, her body rebelling against the violence.

What could he do about that? He wasn’t sure that there really was an adequate technique. And truth be told, he didn’t _want_ her to get used to fighting people. He just wanted her to survive; he wanted her to get to her brother unarmed.

Evelyn shifted in her blankets across the fire, and his gaze flicked down to her again. She was asleep already, mouth hanging slightly open. She looked very serious in her sleep, brows and lips drawn downward into a frown. He smirked at that, wondering what she was dreaming about to look so grave.

She made a soft noise then, shifting again in her blankets. It was a breathy sound, so slight that he almost didn’t catch it. But then she made another such noise, slightly louder this time, and he froze. He felt the familiar stirrings of desire low in the pit of his stomach then, arousal flooding his body with heat as another soft moan left her lips.

He turned away so that he wasn’t facing her. He couldn’t look at her as she made such noises. It wasn’t… he couldn’t… no. He wasn’t going to do that, however much he wanted to. That stray thought gave him pause - _did_ he want to? He had no reason to; he had no idea who she was dreaming about, or what those moans meant. People moaned for more than one reason, after all. It wasn’t necessarily… that kind of dream.

Evelyn moaned loudly then, the noise quickly developing into a happy, contented sigh.

Well. That destroyed any thoughts he’d had that she was moaning out of pain.

Hawke clenched his eyes shut and drew the blanket over his ears.

He would not listen in. He wouldn’t. He absolutely would not –

He threw the blanket back when she began murmuring quietly in her sleep, incoherent speech that he couldn’t decipher. She was shifting more restlessly in her sleep then, moving around in her blankets more frequently.

He couldn’t help it.

He listened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) Another big thanks to bushviper for beta-ing this! :D 
> 
> As always, feedback is much appreciated!


	6. A Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn shows Hawke her magical abilities, and Cassandra has a proposition for Varric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: cheesy innuendos abound!

Evelyn woke late the next morning, sunlight streaming into her eyes. That was odd; it was normally still dark when she woke. She blinked, trying to adjust to the brightness, and rubbed a hand across her face as she stifled a yawn. What time was it? Surely Hawke would have woken her if she’d overslept...

Hawke.

Her cheeks flooded with heat as she remembered her dreams from the night before. Pleasant dreams, certainly, the kind of dreams lovers shared. She’d dreamed of him… of Hawke, his large, muscular frame hovering above her, his fingers tracing patterns down her body, his lips easing themselves across her flesh. She squeezed her eyes tight as the images came back to her, and she pushed them away. Now wasn’t the time to think of such things.

Easing her eyes open again, she chanced a peek across the smoldering remains of their fire. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that Hawke wasn’t there. She sat up, looking around their campsite, but he was nowhere to be found. She was grateful for that as she stood up and began to dress for the day. How was she to face him without remembering the dreams from before?

 _It’s perfectly natural_ , she reasoned, pulling on her boots and lacing them up. _He’s very handsome, and he’s also your only company. It’s nothing more than that. Just a natural, physical attraction._ But the man in her dreams had been gentle and kind with her, tender even. _That_ wasn’t how you acted with someone to whom you were merely physically attracted. She shook her head at the thought and rose, turning to roll her bedding up.

She’d reattached the bedroll to her saddlebags and doused the fire by the time Hawke returned. Evelyn found that she couldn’t quite look him in the eye as he moved about their camp, following her lead in breaking everything down and preparing to leave. Luckily, he said nothing, sparing her the awkwardness of what was likely to be a stuttering response. She lifted her saddle with a grunt of effort, and made for Cloud.

“Wait.”

Evelyn nearly dropped the riding equipment. She half-turned to look at Hawke; he had his arms crossed over his chest, a serious expression on his face. She hesitated before setting the saddle back on the ground and turning to face him completely.

“There’s something we need to discuss.”

She froze, her mind immediately jumping to the worst possible conclusion. He… he hadn’t _heard_ her last night, had he? She’d been quite vocal in her dreams. It _was_ possible that her noises had carried over to the waking world. _Oh, flames!_ Was he going to chastise her? Sit her down and have an awkward conversation about how he wasn’t interested? Her palms had began to sweat, and she irritably wiped them on her trousers as the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach intensified.

“We’re almost to Haven,” Hawke continued. “I think it’s time we talked about your magical abilities.” He reached down to pick up his staff from the ground.

The sense of relief Evelyn felt was almost overwhelming. She took in a deep, shuddering breath before nodding shakily and standing next to Hawke. _He doesn’t know,_ she told herself firmly. _He can’t know you were dreaming about him. Even if he did hear you, he hasn’t mentioned it. He just wants to talk magic. Stay calm, Evelyn!_

“You summoned fire before,” he continued. “Is that the branch of magic you’re most comfortable using?” His light brown eyes were warm, and held no trace of amusement or contempt. He wasn’t treating her any differently than before. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

“Yes,” she replied, happy to hear that her voice seemed unaffected by her nerves. “I’m fairly good at creating barriers, too, and using force to push people away.”

“Do you use healing magic?” he asked. She shook her head. “Ice? Lightning? Earth spells?” She answered each of his queries in turn, nodding for the elemental branches of magic and shaking her head for more delicate branches such as warding spells.

“Your mother taught you well,” Hawke said finally, nodding in approval. He twirled his staff around in his hands a few times. Evelyn didn’t miss the way his muscles bunched and flexed with his movements, but she forced herself not to look too closely. “What do you say to a sparring match? It would be easier for me to help you if I knew what you could do. And a little practice never hurt anybody.”

“Sparring?” she repeated. She’d never sparred against anyone before. Her mother had always taken her out into the woods to practice her magic; she’d kept them away from other people so that no one would get hurt – and so that no one would see them. The first time she’d ever faced another mage had been with Hawke.

He smirked. “You’re not scared, are you?”

She scowled, feet automatically moving to a wider fighting stance. “No!” she retorted.

“You sure about that?” he asked, staff crackling with lightning as he swung it in an arc around his body.

“Absolutely,” she muttered, concentrating hard on his movements to attempt to anticipate an attack.

“I won’t go easy on you,” he warned.

“Don’t even think about it,” she snapped.

Hawke grinned.

Suddenly the ground at her feet was exploding, clods of dirt flying everywhere. Evelyn barely got a barrier up around herself in time, but it was weak because of how startled she was. She jumped backwards, stumbling over her feet as she dodged the next bolt of lightning Hawke threw at her.

He was so fast!

“What are you running for?”

She ignored the question he yelled at her, whipping around to send several blasts of ice towards his face. She didn’t take the time to see if her attack had landed, instantly turning away to find a safe spot.

It was hard to keep up with the barrage of attacks he launched. She would barely deflect one attack before having to run to a new location lest she get hit. As she sprinted to a more favorable position after dodging a fireball, she glanced in his direction and was awed by what she saw. Hawke’s movements were fluid as he cast, spinning round with his staff as if he was dancing. She slowed for a moment to admire his technique, and cursed when he sent another bolt her way.

She dove to the ground with a yelp, her barrier falling away. Panting, she quickly brought it back up to protect herself.

“You’re moving too much!” he cried out to her, switching to fire magic and shooting a fireball at her. Evelyn poured her magic into her barrier then, making it strong enough to survive the attack. Still, she flinched when the attack hit her, the heat making sweat bead along her brow. “Good! Block attacks like that – you’ll exhaust yourself if you keep running away from them!”

Evelyn flashed a hand out and countered with an attack of her own before he’d even closed his mouth. “Shut up!” she yelled back. Hawke threw himself out of the way to avoid the spell, and she grinned in satisfaction. But then the wind was knocked from her lungs as Hawke retaliated with a blast of force magic, throwing her bodily to the ground a few feet away. She gasped for breath as he walked over to her, a smirk on his face.

“Don’t get cocky,” he grinned, reaching down to help her up.

Scowling, she slapped his hand away and pushed herself to her feet. “Again,” she said, motioning him away from her.

He moved to a spot about twenty feet away from her. “Try using force this time,” he advised.

He didn’t have to tell her twice. Bringing her hands up before her, she pushed against him with her magic – not a full blast, but a short burst to gage his resistance. He made a grunt of effort and pushed back against her, refusing to budge. But she was just as stubborn as he was, digging her heels into the ground and retaliating. She poured more magic into the attack then, a stronger blast that would’ve bowled over a less capable person.

But Hawke was strong; he lost his footing for a moment, but stayed upright. Suddenly, he grinned at her, and Evelyn frowned, wondering what he was planning. He lifted a hand from his staff, ice forming along his fingertips as he hurled frozen shards at her. She nearly called off her force attack, only just remembering that doing so would send her flying. Instead, she blasted the ice with a weak fireball, droplets of water pelting her face instead of ice.

“That’s cheating!” she snapped, glaring across the way at Hawke. “You said to use force magic!”

Hawke snorted and pushed back at her with a sharp pulse. She cancelled the attack then, diverting the magic to the side at the last moment as she jumped to the side. A nearby boulder took the brunt of the attack, the force pushing it out of the ground to roll away from them.

“Cheating?” he repeated. “Do you think you’ll be facing one enemy at a time?” He brought his staff to the ground, wiping a hand across his brow. “If it comes to that, you’ll be facing multiple enemies at a time. You can’t focus too hard on just one enemy, or someone will come up from behind and hamstring you.”

He was right. She knew that he was right, though she hated to admit it.

“One more time,” Hawke said, falling back into a battle stance.

Evelyn was ready for him now. Her barriers were stronger, her movements less frenetic, and her awareness heightened. When Hawke sent fire towards her, she spun out of the way, instantly retaliating with attacks of her own. When he chose lightning, she erected a barrier and blasted him with force. And when he called forth ice, she used fire. It was elating, this ability to counter to Hawke’s moves. He seemed to share the sense of joy she felt at sparring, his lips turned up in a huge grin.

But this session was longer, and she was soon panting for breath even though she wasn’t moving around as much. She was tiring, unused to having to use her magic for such a long period of time, and her mana was fast depleting. It took her longer to counter attacks, the magic coming closer and closer to actually hitting her. Should she call off the session, tell Hawke that she couldn’t continue?

Suddenly, a stray burst of force caught her off-guard, and she went flying across the clearing. A strangled cry was torn from her throat as she hit the ground, hard.

“Evelyn!” Hawke’s worried yell was accompanied by the sound of his feet as he ran towards her. She tried to move into a seated position, but her arms were like lead, and they buckled when she put her weight onto them.

Hawke crouched down beside her. “Are you alright?” he asked, looking her over as if to check for injury.

“I’m fine,” she managed to choke out. “I’m not hurt.”

He reached down to help her sit up. She took his hand gratefully, dropping it perhaps a tad too quickly once she was upright. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice.

“What happened?” he asked.

She shook her head irritably, too embarrassed to admit that she’d been too tired to avoid his spell. It was silly, really – fatigue happened to all mages. It wasn’t strange that she’d run out of mana. But to admit that… it seemed a weakness, one she didn’t like confessing.

“You ran out of mana, didn’t you?” Though it was a question, he didn’t inflect it that way. He was staring at her accusatorially, mouth drawn to the side unhappily.

“I…”

Hawke sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was silent for a moment, considering. When he looked to her again, he pulled a few vials out of one of his armor’s many pockets. “Here,” he said gruffly, putting the items in her hand. Evelyn looked down at them curiously; the little glass bottles were filled with a shimmering blue liquid. They were cool to the touch, and their presence made her feel strange – as if the vials were humming in her palm.

“Lyrium,” she guessed. She’d never seen the material before, but she’d heard tales of it from her mother. Potions made from the mineral helped restore a mage’s mana, and the Templars used a different form to gain their abilities to fight mages.

“Drink one of these when your mana is running low,” he continued. “But be very careful about using them – _only_ take lyrium when you have no other options.”

She nodded, and clutched the vials in her palm. “I… sorry,” she muttered.

Hawke clapped her once on the shoulder. “Just… don’t make it a habit. Know your limits.” He stood and held a hand out to her. “Come on. We need to get going.”

Their pace was easier that day. Hawke kept his horse to a steady trot for most of the journey, not bothering to push the animal to a canter. Evelyn was silent as she rode beside him, too embarrassed to say anything. She’d been foolish not to speak up about her fatigue; it was the move of an amateur. What was worse was that she’d erred in front of Hawke. He was the most talented mage she’d ever met, raw power radiating from him like an aura. She was supposed to be helping him rescue his friend, not bungling simple sparring sessions. How was she going to help him if she stubbornly refused to accept her limits?

Her mother had taught her better than that.

To her surprise, Hawke stopped their progress early that evening and began to guide his horse in the direction of the road. “I thought we were avoiding the roads?” she asked, urging Cloud forward to walk alongside him.

“We are,” he said easily.

“Then where are we going?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I need to buy something.”

“Oh.”

He looked over at her for the first time since they’d begun riding. “Are you right or left handed?” he asked.

She blinked in confusion at the random question. “I write with my right hand,” she said slowly.

He nodded. “And how would you classify your grip? Strong, firm? Loose?”

“Firm, I suppose?”

He nodded. “I can work with that.”

“What in Thedas are you talking about?” she demanded.

He gave her a blank look. “We need to see about getting you a staff, of course,” he replied. “If you know you’re going to be in a fight, it’s always a good idea to bring something you can hit people with.”

Ah. That did make sense.

“Merchants will be heading to Haven from all over Thedas, hoping to find a market,” Hawke continued. “I’m hoping a few of them will be selling magical staves. Nothing too ostentatious, of course, and most staffs will be too tall for you, but I think we’ll be able to find something.” She rolled her eyes at the jibe towards her height, but followed him nonetheless.

“What if someone recognizes you?” she asked.

“They won’t.”

She scowled at him. “How can you be so sure?” she snapped. “You’re famous.”

Hawke snorted. “The Champion of Kirkwall that Varric wrote about is seven feet tall and shines like the sun,” he replied. “I’ll admit to being devilishly handsome, but the rest is, sadly, pure embellishment on his part.”

Well, he’d find no argument from her on that account.

“I’ve also been on the road for a long time,” he continued, motioning to his dirt-stained leather armor and shaggy hair. “No one ever expects the hero to get dirty. But I think I rather resemble a bear right now, don’t you think?” He pulled on a strand of hair hanging down into his eyes. “What do you think? Am I in need of a trim?”

“I think it suits you,” she replied.

He smirked at her. “You can be honest,” he said. “I can take the critique.”

“I _was_ being honest!” she snapped. “I like your hair how it is!” Her cheeks heated at the admission, but she stood by her words.

“Do you now?” He looked back up at the offending piece of hair. “Hmm. Perhaps I’ll keep it then.”

There were quite a few people on the road, even though dusk was approaching. Hawke’s estimation looked to be right – a number of them appeared to be merchants, their goods loaded up into wagons drawn by all sorts of draft animals. Several of them eyed Hawke’s armored form curiously, but none of them spoke, to Evelyn’s great relief.

“Wait here,” he said suddenly, holding a hand out to stop her.

Evelyn drew Cloud up short, drawing curses from the merchant behind her as he veered sideways to avoid crashing into her. She quickly murmured an apology and maneuvered off the road. “Give me some warning next time!” she snapped as she turned to Hawke. Her words trailed off when she realized that the mage was nowhere to be found. Scowling, she looked around to try and find where he’d gone.

She didn’t find him. Huffing out a perturbed breath, she crossed her arms over her chest and made ready to wait.

About half an hour later, she finally saw Hawke again, ambling towards her with a wrapped package strapped to the side of his saddle. He grinned at her, ignoring the glare she sent him, and beckoned for her to follow him. She waited until they were a good distance away from the road before speaking.

“Thanks for leaving me in the middle of the road,” she snapped. “I really appreciate it.”

“That’s an odd thing to appreciate,” he said lightly.

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I hadn’t noticed. But no harm done,” he shrugged. He pointed to a clearing up ahead of them. “That looks like a decent place to rest tonight.” He urged his horse on faster then, and Evelyn had to put Cloud to a trot in order to keep up. Irritated, she didn’t speak again until they’d set up camp and settled in for the night.

“How’d you even manage to buy a staff, anyways?” she finally asked, curiosity edging out her irritation.

“Money tends to persuade people to sell things,” Hawke replied nonchalantly.

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean,” she snapped. “Mages are forced to live in Circles in Ferelden, aren’t they? They can’t go around buying staffs.”

“No, they can’t,” he agreed. “But most people in the Circles don’t have the requisite skills to create all of the parts of a staff. Carving the staff, metalwork, infusing the core with lyrium… such tasks are often delegated to craftsmen with those skill. Merchants then carry the finished products to various Circles. And sometimes the Circles trade with each other to get items they don’t have.”

“But why was he willing to sell the staff to _you?”_  she persisted.

“Ah.” Hawke nodded, and shrugged. “It’s not particularly hard nowadays, with the war between mages and Templars raging. Anyone can pick over a battlefield for unused staffs and then sell them. Sometimes the Templars buy them to keep them out of mage hands; other times, the apostates buy them to replace ones that have been broken. Of course, the entire practice has been deemed highly illegal by the Chantry, but since when has that stopped people?” He shot her a sardonic smile.

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied flatly.

“Do you want to see it?” he asked, ignoring her remark.

She nodded eagerly, and Hawke walked over to his horse, bending down to untie the package he’d bought earlier. He returned a moment later and handed the wrapped staff to her.

Evelyn stood and took it from him, unwrapping the thin paper with hesitant fingers. It fell to the ground unheeded as she took in the staff; it was _beautiful_. It had to have been made of a very light wood, for it wasn’t heavy at all in her grasp. One end was larger than the other, topped with a gnarled bit of wood with inlays for gemstones or runes. The smaller tip looked like it could be fitted with a blade of some kind. She clutched the staff tight against her body, the firelight shimmering on the polished face of the wood.

“Do you know how to wield it?” he asked.

“I’ve never used one before,” she replied. She held it out from her body then and tried to twirl it around in imitation of Hawke’s movements.

He laughed at her antics, and she stopped, embarrassed. “No, don’t stop!” he said quickly, waving a hand. “It’s adorable!”

She scowled at him. “I’m sorry I’m not a natural at twirling a stick in my hands,” she retorted.

“Here, let me help.” He moved to stand behind her, framing her body with his as he gripped the staff. Evelyn froze, unaccustomed to the proximity; she could feel the heat rolling off his body. He dwarfed her, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. “When you cast a spell, move it like this,” he murmured, jerking the staff out in a striking motion. Immediately, he moved it back in the opposite direction. “And then bring it back towards you to strike out again.”

He stepped back to give her more room, and she followed his directions, lashing out with the staff a few times. “Try casting,” he encouraged after a few moments. She nodded, summoning her magic; her mana was still low from the sparring earlier in the day, but she had enough energy for a few small spells. She concentrated on making a fireball, and let the magic loose as soon as she struck out with the staff. It arced perfectly in the direction she willed it, her control over the fire greatly magnified. Gleeful that she’d managed something on the first try, she turned around, smiling at Hawke.

“Nicely done,” he approved. He stepped forward again. “But your grip is too close; it doesn’t give you enough control over the staff.” He placed his hands over hers and repositioned them, widening her grip. “Like this,” he murmured.

“It feels strange,” she said, hands inching closer together almost of their own accord.

Hawke gripped her hands a little tighter then, preventing them from moving. “You’ll get used to it,” he replied.

She turned her head to ask him a question, and was startled to find his face right next to hers. Her question died on her lips as he turned towards her expectantly. He smirked when she said nothing. “Yes?” he asked. His eyes flicked down to her lips before slowly rising up to meet her gaze again.

She couldn’t remember what she’d been about to ask him, and now, with him staring at her like, his face so close to hers, she certainly wasn’t about to remember. “Thank you,” she blurted out instead. He blinked in surprise, and she rushed to add, “For the staff. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “You should practice wielding it on your own, develop your own style of fighting.” He winked at her. “Unless you’d like to continue watching me ‘twirl my stick around’ some more, that is.”

She made a choking noise at the innuendo, and Hawke stepped back, chuckling. “Sorry,” he said, raising his hands defensively. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No!” she choked out, nearly dropping the staff when she turned away from him to hide how flustered she was from his words.

Unsure of how else to respond, Evelyn huffed and walked to her bedroll. She laid her new staff beside her and shrugged out of her jacket and boots before crawling into the blankets, arranging them around herself for maximum warmth. Hawke did the same across the fire, and she turned away from him, rolling onto her side. She hoped that her dreams tonight were plain and ordinary tonight.

She couldn’t take any more dreams of Hawke.

*

Varric looked up as the door to his cell opened. He smirked when he recognized his visitor. “Ah, Seeker,” he said, grinning up into the stern visage of Cassandra Pentaghast. “For what am I owed this pleasure?”

“Quiet, dwarf,” the Seeker snapped. She crossed her arms, staring down at him imperiously. “I do not have time for your flattery today.”

“Do you ever have time for it?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “Because I gotta tell you, from what I’ve seen, you could use a little –”

She leaned down into his face, gripping the sides of the chair on which he was sitting. “Shut _up_ ,” she snapped. Her brown eyes were cold as she surveyed his unkempt appearance. Wasn’t his fault, that – this prison had appalling hygienic facilities.

“What do you want from me, Seeker?” Varric asked quietly, sensing that today was not a day where his levity would be tolerated. “I’ve already told you what I know.”

“Where is the Champion?” Cassandra demanded, standing up. It was probably so that she could stare down her nose at him – she had a nice nose. Long, sharp, aristocratic. Very good for looking stern.

“I told you – I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” she said quickly. She began to move in a slow circle around him, the tapping of her boots on the stone the only sound in the chamber.

“Trust me, if I were lying, I’d have embellished more,” he replied. That wasn’t strictly true – the best lies were the simple ones, most of the time. “I don’t know where Hawke is.” In this case, however, he really _wasn’t_ lying. It figured that the one time he was being punished for telling a lie was the one time he was actually telling the truth.

“Where did you see him last?”

“Kirkwall,” Varric said. “In the Hanged Man. We were going our separate ways.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “He had business in Antiva,” he said. “I didn’t. Never did like the wine there – a tad dry for my taste.”

“I looked for him in Antiva,” she snapped. “No one has seen anything of him or those that you said would be with him. He has… disappeared. If you are telling the truth about his location.”

“What can I say?” he asked. “Hawke isn’t the type to stay in one place for long.” When the Seeker didn’t say anything in return, he decided to risk a question. “Say, Seeker… what do you want Hawke for, anyways?”

“What?” Cassandra asked sharply.

“You heard me,” he snorted.

The Seeker stopped directly in front of him, brows drawn down into a frown. “He harbored a dangerous apostate and helped the Circle of Kirkwall overthrow the Templars,” she said; her answer was automatic, monotone. Rehearsed, then. “He must answer for his crimes.”

“Come now, you and I both know that’s not true,” he said, grinning. She shifted uneasily in front of him, and he knew he’d guessed right. “It’s been a while since Blondie exploded the Chantry, and the Divine didn’t so much as lift a finger to try and capture Hawke. And I’m not stupid enough to think she couldn’t have caught him if she’d really tried. So if she didn’t want him dead then, she doesn’t want him dead now.”

The Seeker stiffened. “I… cannot presume to know what the Divine intends for the Champion,” she said.

“But you have an idea, right?”

“It is none of your business!” she snapped.

“Of course not, my mistake,” he said, easing back a bit. “Call me curious.”

She was silent for a moment, staring at him. The hostility was plain on her face, and he had to wonder at the vehemence behind the expression. What had he ever done to her? Oh, he supposed he’d been a royal pain in the ass since he’d been taken prisoner. But again, he really _didn’t_ know the answers to her questions, and her sour attitude wasn’t going to give him a sudden burst of inspiration. No, there was something else there…

“We need him.” The Seeker had spoken so quietly, Varric almost hadn’t heard her.

“Come again?”

“We _need_ him,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “We must end this war between mages and Templars. Too many lives have been destroyed already!”

“And what do you want Hawke to do, bring those people back to life?” he snorted. “Hawke’s good, but he’s not _that_ good, Seeker.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “We need a leader.”

He cocked an eyebrow at that. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but don’t you already have a leader?” he asked. “Long white robes, pointy hat?”

“The Divine cannot interfere more than she already has in calling for a Conclave. She has… already compromised her position.”

“You mean too many people are calling her a bleeding heart, and if she supports the mages any more openly, there will be outright rebellion,” Varric clarified. Cassandra flushed, but nodded. “I notice things, Seeker.”

“Hawke is not a part of the Chantry,” she continued. “He could gain the trust of those the Divine cannot.”

“So you want him to be a scapegoat.”

“We need him to act as a neutral party-”

“How is Hawke a neutral party?” he asked, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it. “Do you think he’ll agree to go live in a Circle? Do you think he’ll allow the Templars to just go back to their duties as if none of this happened? After what he saw in Kirkwall? After Meredith tried to butcher the Circle?”

“I… no.”

“Of course he won’t!”

Varric expected her to glare at him; he would have put good money on it, had there been a bet. To his immense surprise, she didn’t. Where he had anticipated anger, he saw only resignation. He didn’t know how to react.

“Well, Seeker, I believe this is called an impasse.”

“You must convince him.”

He couldn’t quite believe his ears. “What was that?” he asked.

“Convince him to join our cause. Convince him that he must help Knight-Lieutenant Trevelyan and I restore order.”

“You must be joking.”

“Do I look like I make many jokes to you, dwarf?”

He snorted. “You’ve got me there, Seeker,” he replied. “But… seriously? You took me captive and threw me in a prison far away from my home. You’ve questioned me within an inch of my life. And now you want me to convince my best friend to throw in his lot with you?”

“More or less,” she said stiffly.

“More or less,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Just… think about it.”

“Sure, Seeker. I’ll _think_ about it.” He was barely able to hide the contempt from his voice, only successful because of long years spent perfecting his purposefully neutral demeanor. “I’ll think on it real hard.” Cassandra glared at him nonetheless, and stalked from the room like a cat who’d had its tail stepped on.

So that was it then. Her ulterior motive in capturing him was to get to Hawke. Oh, he’d suspected it for a long time; after all, what would the Divine want with a dwarven merchant? He had connections and plenty of money, but he wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Varric shook his head and sighed, a few loose strands of hair falling into his face. This was bad. Very, very bad. They knew that Hawke wouldn’t agree to what they were asking of him; it was a laughable idea. But asking that of Hawke when one of his friends had been taken captive? Threatening to hurt that friend unless he agreed to their demands? It was devious, and clever, and almost certain to succeed, dammit. Hawke wasn’t the type to let a friend down, despite the cost to himself.

He sighed again.

“Well, shit.”

He was bait.

He _hated_ being bait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) 
> 
> Another big shout-out to bushviper for beta-ing this! <3 
> 
> As always, I love hearing what you guys think! Your comments and kudos are much appreciated!


	7. Cataclysm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Evelyn finally make it to Haven, where disaster strikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, much love to my pal bushviper for beta-ing this for me! <3

Hawke stared down at the small village of Haven from his perch on the rocky outskirts of the town, well hidden amongst the trees. It certainly didn’t look like the site of an international Conclave, that was for certain. The town was small, the only building of note the Chantry standing high upon a lone hill. It was old, too, and the architecture was unfamiliar; it wasn’t like the Chantry back in Lothering or any of the other Fereldan cities his family had visited when he was younger.

His eyes flicked over to the steady stream of travelers heading up the mountain. The sigils of the Chantry and the Templars were prominent, the sun glinting off steel shields and golden sunbursts alike. All of them were heading to the Temple of Sacred Ashes near the mountain’s summit. He couldn’t see it from this distance, even when he squinted and held a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun; it was hidden behind an outcropping of rock.

It was an interesting dilemma he now faced.

The way that he saw it, there were only two possible locations for prisoners such as Varric. The first was Haven’s Chantry. It likely had some sort of dungeon; the lack of a city guard necessitated that the largest building have a place to hold criminals. The second was the Temple itself; perhaps Varric had been deemed too big a risk to leave behind.

Hawke wasn’t sure which was the more likely scenario, and it was irritating him to no end. He crossed his arms over his chest in frustration, wondering for what felt like the hundredth time about what to do. The Conclave was to be held that evening, the village already nearly emptied of people. He had to decide on a course of action, and soon, or he would lose his window of opportunity.

He crouched down, grabbing a handful of snow absently as he considered his options.

There was no way that he could make it into the Conclave without being noticed. He hated sending Evelyn into the thick of things without any backup; it put her into a dangerous position. If things went badly, and fighting broke out between the Templars and the mages, she was vulnerable to getting caught in the crossfire. But she had known that when she’d agreed to help him. And she wasn’t stupid; he trusted that if tempers flared, she could escape before the tensions escalated to a breaking point.

If she were to go to the Temple, he could likely slip into the village Chantry and investigate the cells there. Haven had no walls, and the land just behind the Chantry building was heavily forested. It would provide him with the cover he needed to slip inside unnoticed. Once he was in… well, Varric had taught him a few tricks over the years. He would manage.

It was a solid plan, the best one he was likely to come up with. He’d been thinking of what to do all morning, always circling back to the one currently running through his mind. Evelyn would go to the Temple and search around while he would pay a visit to Haven’s Chantry.

But when? The position of the sun indicated it was mid-afternoon, and the official commencement of the Conclave would be announced at sunset. Evelyn would have to leave soon if she were to make it up the mountainside and find the mages. He would wait a little later to infiltrate the Chantry, making sure that all of the people likely to recognize him were long gone.

He rose to his feet, ready to speak with Evelyn. A nervous energy filled him at the anticipation of finally being able to act. It was very different from the trepidation he’d felt when he’d first arrived in Kirkwall; then his actions had been dominated by fear, constantly worrying about his family. Now… well, he’d had time to grow more confident in his abilities. And there was very little of his family left to worry over.

Was Evelyn nervous? She had seemed fine when he’d left her earlier, but this was something she’d never done before, something she’d likely never thought that she would _ever_ do. Were he in her position, he’d have been sweating in his boots.

Hawke saw the horses before he saw her. Evelyn was crouched down, warming her hands over a small fire she’d lit. She looked up at him as he approached, but then quickly averted her eyes. She’d been doing that more and more recently - refusing to meet his gaze, even when they were talking. It was… strange. He half-wondered if he had done something to offend her. It didn’t seem likely - surely she would have said something if he had. She wasn’t the type to keep her feelings bottled up.

But now wasn’t the time to be worrying about that.

There were bigger problems at hand.

“How does it look?” Evelyn asked, rising to her feet.

“I have a plan,” he said, indirectly answering her question.

She raised a delicately arched eyebrow at that, green eyes meeting his briefly before flicking away again. “I’ve scouted two possible places where I think they may have imprisoned Varric. The first is the Chantry in the village, and the second is in the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“A dungeon in a house of worship?” she snorted. “That’s… ironic.”

“But strangely appropriate,” he agreed. “The Temple is located up the mountainside. All of the people attending the Conclave are heading there now to get there before things come to a head.”

“And that’s where you need me to go,” she guessed. He blinked in surprise, and she grinned at him. “I can work things out,” she said lightly.

He returned the grin. “I like a girl who thinks on her feet,” he replied. That seemed to startle her, the grin slipping off her face in surprise. He cleared his throat to ease the awkwardness of the situation, and continued, “But yes. That’s where all of the important people are going to be. I’ll be recognized instantly, and then someone will no doubt demand my head.”

Evelyn nodded slowly. “I should be able to get in without a problem,” she said. “But I suppose I’ll need to leave my staff here?”

It was a question he’d asked himself. Should she take the staff? They’d been practicing every day since they’d first sparred, and her technique had improved rapidly. He almost couldn’t tell that just a few days ago, she’d never held a staff before in her life. But that same weapon would only draw attention to her at the Conclave. Should she risk it?

“I think you should try and find the rebel mages,” he said, voicing his conclusion. “It won’t look odd for a mage to have a staff. Of course, they may have security, and they may be requiring everyone to leave all weapons outside. In that case, you’ll have to do as they say. It would look suspicious if you refused to comply.”

Evelyn fingered the staff in her hands lovingly. “I don’t want to lose it,” she murmured.

He was touched by how much she treasured the thing. She cleaned it every day after they sparred, and was always careful to never set it upon dirt or mud. It was the same with the cloak he’d bought for her; she was constantly brushing dirt from the cloth, as if she were reticent to let the fabric get even the slightest bit dirty.

“If it comes to that, I can get you another one,” he said.

“No!” she said fiercely. He was taken aback at her tone, and she shot him an apologetic look. “Sorry. But I don’t want you to buy me another one. I like this one. It’s perfect.” She turned and walked over to her pony. “I’ll leave it here.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. She began to tie the weapon to her saddlebags. “It’s a loss of power.”

“I know,” she replied, nodding. “But I’m used to working without a staff. And it will make me less conspicuous, right?” With one final tug to the straps, she turned back to face Hawke. “So if I’m to enter the Temple and look for your friend, does that mean that you’ll be breaking into the Chantry?”

“I wouldn’t call it breaking in,” he said thoughtfully.

She scowled at him. “You know what I meant,” she snapped.

“Yes, I’ll be going to the Chantry,” he said. “Hopefully there’s a back entrance and I can get in and out without anyone noticing. I’m honestly not sure where Varric is most likely to be – it could go either way.” She nodded in understanding. “But if you find him, get him out and get back here as soon as possible. We’ll wait until the Conclave is over, and then you can go and look for your brother.”

“You aren’t coming with me?” She sounded surprised.

“I think it best if I stay away,” he admitted. “Once they notice Varric is missing, I’ll immediately be a suspect. If I then show up out of the blue…”

“It looks bad,” she finished, nodding. “I’ll come back once I’ve found him.” She paused, for once that day looking him straight in the eyes. “To let you know I’m alright.”

He was surprised at how relieved that admission made him. He had planned on lingering for a few hours anyways, just in case she wasn’t able to find her brother. But this was a much better idea, and he was pleased that she’d suggested it willingly.

Perhaps a little too pleased.

She was preparing to leave for the Temple. “Evelyn,” he said. She looked up at him. “Be safe.”

*

“Be safe.”

Evelyn chanced a longer look into his eyes then, despite the memories his gaze tended to evoke. She’d not been able to look at him properly since that night, not unless they were sparring. His eyes made her uncomfortable; they were warm and full of heat. It made her think of things that she had no business imagining, and her belly always coiled tightly in response.

It was distracting.

But now, looking up at him, she felt no discomfort. There was still that same warm, heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach, but it was also different. She felt… pleased? Yes, pleased – happy to know that he wanted her to be safe. He didn’t want her to get hurt. _It’s nothing_ , she told herself, _just the worry he would have if any of his friends were to venture into danger_. But her mind’s logic didn’t dissuade her body’s feelings.

“I’ll try,” she replied, voice coming out as an embarrassing squeak. She scowled at the sound of it, hating how weak it made her appear. She wasn’t frightened, not really. A little apprehensive, but that was to be expected. She wasn’t as nervous as her traitorous voice made her sound.

To her surprise, Hawke closed the distance between them and dragged into a fierce hug. She inhaled sharply, forcefully reminding herself to return the gesture. He was so much larger than she was; the hug made her feel warm, protected and safe. She leaned in a little farther, her body involuntarily seeking out the warmth, but then Hawke was pulling back, releasing her. He shot her a grin, and she weakly returned it before turning away to hide her embarrassment. Had he noticed how she’d leaned in close?

She left before she had the chance to ponder it any longer, heading down into the valley that led to the road. She looked back once, but Hawke had already disappeared from view. Disappointed, she trotted over to the road, joining the people heading up the mountain.

It was slow going. Evelyn quickly found herself frustrated that no one seemed to be in any hurry to get to the Temple. Wasn’t this Conclave supposed to be happening soon? She would have thought people would be frantic to get there.

Soon the ground began to slant upwards, and the path narrowed. The ground here was rocky, the snow having long since melted. Evelyn’s legs began to protest the steep climb, and though the air was frigid, she found herself sweating. Still, she was faring better than many; quite a few of the travelers were old or infirm. They took frequent breaks, stepping off the road to catch their breath and grab at their sides. She took advantage of their dying stamina, hurrying past them to take their vacated positions in the throng.

The sight of the Temple took her by surprise.

It had been hewn directly from the mountain, standing tall along the edge of a sheer cliff. The architecture was unfamiliar to her, rounded columns supporting towering walls and vaulted ceilings rising to spiking points. Despite the waning light, the blue-gray stone was practically gleaming, polished until it shone. Several sets of polished wooden doors were thrown open, revealing glimpses of a lovely entryway and beyond that, a sanctuary. It was beautiful, breathtaking even. People milled around her as she paused to take in the view, jostling her elbows and grumbling at having to go around her. She paid them little attention, awed by the building before her.

This was a much more impressive building than the Chantry in Amaranthine. _This_ looked like a place of worship. But was it? Located so far up the mountain in a remote area of Ferelden? Why would anyone build a temple here?

She didn’t have much time to ponder that thought.

The blast of a horn pealed through the valley then, and people began to rush towards the doors. It had to be some sort of signal – perhaps a warning of the Conclave’s imminent beginning? Evelyn looked back over her shoulder; there were still many people behind her. Surely the Conclave wouldn’t start without everyone present? She wasn’t sure, so she followed the crowd towards the building, slipping away once she was inside.

Shielded from the gusty wind, the air was warmer here, smelling richly of minerals and incense. Candles were everywhere, throwing pale golden light upon the surface of the stone walls. A grand chamber lay deeper inside the mountain; already, people were filing into the chairs that had been arranged around the dais in the center of the room. Grand tapestries of the Chantry’s sunburst were hanging from every wall.

That wasn’t where she needed to go. Turning away, she stepped cautiously upon the plush red carpet, trying not to attract any attention as she crept away from the entryway. She paused at the intersection of two corridors, poking her head around to make sure that the way was clear. Reassured that she was alone, she picked up her pace, searching for any sort of passageway that would lead down into the earth to where the prisoners were kept.

The gentle murmur of the crowds slowly began to fade as she crept farther and farther away from the main chamber. So too did the decorations and the candles - this part of the Temple was as bare as the rock it was hewn from. She paused, stopping to pry a lit taper off its golden holder. Hot wax dripped onto her hand, and she hissed, nearly dropping the thing as the pain hit her. _Be quiet!_ She reminded herself, scowling down at the offending source of light.

She grabbed two spares and shoved them into a pocket before heading down the next corridor. The ground was beginning to slope downward; it was a good sign that was on the right track. And yet…

This part of the Temple was different. It felt… old. And eerie, as if it had lain untouched by humans for years. The warmth was leeched from her bones the deeper she went, and she found herself shivering despite her best effort to keep still. It was deeply unsettling. She hoped that she found Varric soon.

A second horn blast sounded and Evelyn jerked, looking back the way she had come. Perhaps that was the signal for the Conclave to begin. Her heart still racing from the sudden noise, she continued on, following the corridor when it turned sharply to the right. She stopped at the double doors before her, frowning.

An odd red light was pouring through the cracks in the wood, and she could hear faint murmuring on the other side. Stepping cautiously, she laid an ear to the surface, trying to hear what the people were saying. At first, she could discern nothing. Then –

“Now is the hour of our victory.”

Victory? Whose victory? The mages, or the Templars? The voice was masculine, cold and clinical.

“Why are you doing this? You, of all people?”

The second voice belonged to a woman, her accent thick and melodious. Evelyn didn’t like the hints of fear in the woman’s voice, the shrill edge to her tone. Was she being harmed?

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

Evelyn felt a burst of magic then, and withdrew from the door in fear. It was nothing like the magic she knew - it felt ancient and menacing even from this distance. Her skin broke out in a cold sweat. What was being done to this woman?

She leaned back in to listen, the candle trembling in her grasp.

“Someone help me!”

This time, the woman sounded terrified.

Evelyn bit her lip, heart pounding in her chest. What should she do? This wasn’t part of the plan – she was supposed to get into the Temple, find and rescue Varric, and get back to Hawke. She shouldn’t, no, _couldn’t_ , get distracted; it would only draw attention to herself, perhaps even get her imprisoned. And yet…

The magical pressure intensified, and she winced, sensing the malevolent intent behind it. The woman behind the doors gasped, drawing in a pained breath of air.

That was what made up Evelyn’s mind.

She couldn’t bear to listen to the woman’s pain and not help.

The candle fell from her hands, the flame dying as it hit the ground. Evelyn rammed her shoulder into the door, staggering into the room to a burst of red light. A shocked silence met her ears, a freakishly tall nightmare of a creature turning to face her; shards of some red mineral were sprouting from his face, and his skin was stretched tight over too lanky a frame.

She was afraid. But she pressed on, forcing herself to look not at him, but at the woman across from him. Held in place by magic, she was dressed in the ornate robes of the Chantry. Her skin was old and withered, shoulders sagging in pain. Surrounding her were four men and women, their armor bearing the griffon standard of the Grey Wardens.

She couldn’t make heads or tails of it. She scowled, trying to put the pieces of this puzzle together even as she gathered her courage to face this demon.

“What’s going on here?”

*

It was too easy.

He shouldn’t say that. Hawke _knew_ he shouldn’t say that. It was asking for trouble to come his way, trouble he didn’t need. But… it really had been easy.

Once Evelyn had left, he’d snuck back to the edge of the forest and waited until darkness had started to fall. By then, the steady stream of travelers had tapered off, leaving the village in a state of near emptiness. It had been easy enough to slip through the trees to the back of the Chantry. And as luck would have it, there had even been a back entrance. He’d picked its lock easily. Varric would have proud of him.

The Chantry itself was deserted. There wasn’t a Revered Mother or Templar in sight. He was alone with the armada of candles and the faint smell of incense.

There had to be a catch. There was _always_ a catch.

There were doors to his immediate left and right. He chose the door on the left first, turning the knob before he had time to think of the consequences. It turned out to be some sort of bedchamber, the fire on the hearth long gone cold. Probably the Revered Mother’s suit of rooms.

He turned back round, ignoring the door across from him for now. It was likely another bedchamber. Instead, he walked to the front of the building, searching the darkness for more passageways. It took him only a moment to find the door that led down into the dungeons. He smirked at his good fortune and headed down into the earth, slipping the door closed behind him.

The air was dank down here, the walls covered in grime and mold. He wrinkled his nose at the smell, covering his face with a hand. Evidently, they weren’t cleaning their dungeons. Bad decision – plenty of opportunity for morale building labor down here. Put those Chantry novices to good use, and all.

It was difficult to see in the dim light. Chancing a bit of magic, Hawke waved a hand at the torches that still stood in brackets upon the walls. Instantly, the place felt less gloomy. He began to follow the corridor, taking note of all that he saw. The first few cells appeared to be storage facilities more than anything, the light revealing old furniture and stacks of books that nearly touched the ceiling. He ignored those and pressed on, continuing to light torches as he moved.

He paused when the corridor abruptly widened into a large room. The cells were smaller here, empty cages lining the walls. It was too dark to see into their depths. He reached over and grabbed the nearest torch, hefting it in his grip before walking to the middle of the room.

“Varric?” he called out, looking around. “Are you here?”

There was the sound of a piece of furniture clattering to the ground.

“Shit!”

Hawke grinned. He’d know that voice anywhere. He spun around wildly, searching for the source of the voice.

“Hawke!”

There he was.

Hawke rushed over to the cell that contained his friend, crouching down to look Varric in the eye. The dwarf had seen better days – his hair was dirty and unkempt, pieces hanging down to frame his face. His clothes were mussed and torn in several places and he looked like he could use a decent night’s rest. But it didn’t seem like he’d been beaten, or starved.

_Thank the Maker._

“What are you doing here?” Varric hissed, keeping his voice to a low murmur.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Rescuing you, of course,” he replied flatly. “Didn’t think your noble arsehole could last much longer in a cell.”

The dwarf snorted. “While I appreciate the concern for my ‘noble arsehole’ – and I’m not sure whether that’s a comment on my arsehole’s quality or my general state of being – you shouldn’t be here!” He looked around suspiciously. “If they catch you, they’ll eat you alive!”

Hawke grimaced. “I wouldn’t advise it. I’ve been on the road for weeks. I’d wager darkspawn taste better.”

“Don’t make jokes about that,” Varric said darkly. He waved at the lock. “And don’t just stand there! Get me out of here!”

“Don’t be hasty,” Hawke smirked. He fell to one knee and pulled his picks out of a pocket, setting to work on the heavy bolt that secured the door to Varric’s cell. As he worked, he asked, “So what did they want with you?”

Varric snorted. “Oh, they didn’t want me,” he replied. “It’s you they’re after. I’m just collateral damage.”

Hawke grimaced. Of course that was it. He’d guessed as much, though he’d not liked what that implied. “What do they want with me?” The lock clicked in his hands, and he stood, swinging the cage open to let Varric out.

“You’re not going to believe this,” the dwarf snorted, looking up at him. “They want you to lead an Inquisition to stop the war. Apparently, you have more clout than the Divine these days!”

“Do I now?” Hawke shrugged. “No one’s told Kirkwall that.”

“They wanted your location,” Varric continued.

“Did you give it to them?”

“Oh, I told them you were heading for Antiva. Of course, by the time they got there to harass you, you were long gone.”

“Sorry about that.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to.” Varric looked around. “Now, how do we get out of here? Got any plans?”

“I… figured we’d go out the same way we came in,” Hawke said slowly, pointing back down the corridor.

Varric chuckled. “And let me guess – out the front door?” Hawke nodded. “Classic. Ah, well. At least you’re consistent. Say, you didn’t happen to see Bianca around anywhere, did you? I don’t know where they put her.”

“I haven’t seen her.”

“Dammit. If one of those idiots broke her…”

“We’ll find her.” Hawke led the way back up the corridor, replacing the torch he’d taken as he passed its empty bracket. Varric trailed along behind him, no doubt searching for any sign of his beloved crossbow. He was just about to walk back up the stairs when Varric reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Are we really just waltzing up there without some kind of plan?”

Hawke shot him a look. “Come on, Varric, when have we _ever_ had a plan?”

“I see your point, but I’d also like to point out that planning would have saved us a lot of trouble on many different occasions,” Varric retorted.

“Alright, here’s the plan. We’ll sneak up the stairs, tiptoe out the back door, and then run like bandits. Sound good?”

The dwarf sighed in resignation, but there was a smile on his face. “You never change,” he muttered. He motioned up the stairs. “Alright, then, let’s go! No sense in wasting time!”

“That’s the spirit!”

He wasn’t so lucky the second time he stepped into the Chantry. A lone sister stood near the front entrance, staring up at the mountain through the open door. She tensed and spun on her heel when she heard Hawke emerge from the dungeons, and gasped when she saw whom he’d rescued. “Wait-” The woman dashed out of the doors before Hawke could get another word in, and he sighed. “Shit. Time to go.”

He looked down at Varric, blinking in surprise when he didn’t find the dwarf by his side. “Varric!” he hissed, spinning around. “Where did you go?”

“Oh, calm down.” Varric emerged from the room Hawke had left untouched, his crossbow cradled reverently in his hands. “No need to panic.”

“I’m not panicking!” Hawke snapped. “But we need to go – _now_.” He pointed to the back room. “There’s a door that leads out the back. Go!”

They had only made it a few steps when a sharp voice called out, “What is the meaning of this?” He looked back over his shoulder to see a woman in heavy armor glaring at him. Her eyes widened in recognition. “Champion!”

“Shit.”

“Now would be the time to panic,” Varric said dryly.

Hawke shot a glare at his friend, relaxing his posture when he saw the Templars pouring in the back door to surround them. This wasn’t good.

“Take their weapons,” the woman ordered. She motioned to one of the men who stood at her side. “Get Knight-Captain Trevelyan. He will want to be here for this.” The man nodded and ran off, quick despite his heavy armor.

Trevelyan. Evelyn’s brother. _So he IS here_. Hawke tensed as another Templar stepped forward and reached for his staff. He glared at the man, but reluctantly relinquished it. He didn’t relish the thought of a smite hitting him in retaliation. He looked at Varric out of the corner of his eye. “Do you know her?”

The dwarf sighed as his crossbow was roughly torn from his fingers. “You could say that,” he said flatly. He turned to glare across the room at the woman, who had crossed her arms over her chest as she stared at them. “Cassandra Pentaghast. She’s a Seeker of Truth, and the Right Hand of the Divine.”

“Huh.”

The woman flushed at the flippant comment, and stepped forward, eyes narrowing to slits. “And you are Garrett Hawke, apostate and Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Is that it?” Hawke asked. She blinked at him. “Surely I have other titles to convey my importance. Destroyer of Chains? Breaker of Hearts? The Best Hand at Cards You’ve Ever Seen?” Varric chuckled beside him.

“Don’t joke,” she snapped. She eyed him speculatively. “You are… smaller than I expected.”

Now it was Hawke’s turn to be surprised. “Well, that’s just rude,” he said. He looked down at Varric. “This is all your fault, you know. You made me seven feet tall, and now I go around _disappointing_ people. Are you happy with yourself?”

“Quite.”

A newcomer stormed into the room then, his face an impassive mask. He was tall, easily the largest human man Hawke had ever seen. He would’ve topped Carver by three inches, easy, and his shoulders were much broader. He wore the polished armor of a Templar, steel greatsword strapped to his back. His black hair was cut very short, barely darkening his tanned skin, and his eyes were a pale, lambent brown. He cut a handsome figure, with his strong, square jaw and proud nose - the very image of a leader.

“Who is this?” Hawke murmured, taking advantage of the woman’s distraction as she informed the new Templar of the situation.

“Who?” Varric looked over at the newcomer. “Oh, that’s Tree.” Hawke shot him a confused look, and Varric continued. “As in ‘built like a’ – oh, honestly, he’s massive. Solid as an oak tree. His real name is Edric Trevelyan; he’s one of the Templars who joined the Inquisition when the Seeker came calling.”

“And you nicknamed him _Tree?”_

“You’re just jealous you never got a nickname.”

Hawke shook his head as the newcomer approached him. “You’re Hawke?” Trevelyan asked. His voice was deep but soft, thoughtful.

Hawke nodded, and the man stuck out his hand. “Edric Trevelyan, formerly of Kirkwall,” he said. Hawke took the hand hesitantly. Was this… was this a _welcome_?

“I’m sorry for taking your staff, but we must talk,” Trevelyan continued. “We will return it to you afterwards.”

“Afterwards?” Hawke repeated. “You mean I’m getting out of this alive?”

The other man frowned at him. “Of course,” he replied. “What did you think would happen?”

“Torture, dismemberment, death. The usual.”

“You mistake us.”

Hawke eyed him, not quite trusting the other man despite his words. “Perhaps,” he allowed. Trevelyan turned then, nodding to Cassandra. He looked to be preparing to leave.

Well, that was no good.

“Wait!” Hawke said, stepping forward. Immediately, the Templars before him drew their swords, brandishing them in his direction. He threw his hands up, straightening. “Trevelyan!”

The tall Templar turned and looked at him. “Yes?”

“I… I have your sister.”

The man’s face betrayed none of his feelings. He slowly walked back over to where Hawke and Varric were standing, coming to a stop just before him. He looked down, eyes narrowed. “What did you say?” he asked.

“Evelyn,” Hawke replied. He didn’t back down, despite the other’s obvious attempt at intimidation. “I’ve been helping her look for you.”

“Where did you meet my sister?”

Hawke sighed. “It’s a long story, and I can explain it all later,” he snapped. “But in short, she’s here. She came with me.”

“I don’t see her.”

“That’s because she’s –”

Suddenly, the ground lurched beneath their feet. Hawke fell to the ground, barely avoiding getting squashed by the Templars who crashed down beside him. The earth shook violently, the Chantry groaning on its foundations. But that was not the worst of it. Hawke gasped aloud when he felt the Veil rend above them, the physical pressure of its rending electrifying his nerves. He forced his head up, trying to see what was going on, half-afraid demons were pouring into the world of the living.

And then he saw it.

The doors of the Chantry had been flung wide open by the earthquake, revealing a pale sliver of green illuminating the night sky. Magic. He followed the pillar of light up to the heavens, fear lancing through him when he saw the gaping hole there. It was like the maw of a beast, spewing green fire and smoke.

He pushed himself to his feet, desperate to get to the door for a better view. Trevelyan was right behind him; they seemed the only two capable of overcoming the tremors. Together, they clung to the walls and peered out into the night.

The mountain was ablaze, smoke spewing into the air. The strange green light seemed to be emanating from there, shooting up from the…

The Temple of Sacred Ashes.

Evelyn.

He wasn’t aware he’d said that last out loud until Trevelyan grabbed him by the shoulder. “What are you saying, Hawke?” he demanded. His hand was like a vice.

“She’s up there,” Hawke choked out. “In the Temple. I sent her to the Temple.”

He’d killed her.

_Damn it all!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) 
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated!


	8. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn is discovered in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and Hawke and Varric decide what their next move is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter notice ahead! Seriously. It's like 8,000 words. It's a lot of information. I hope you all like it!
> 
> Also, another round of thanks to bushviper for beta-ing this :)

Edric wasn’t sure what to do.

His training had prepared him for a great many things, but this catastrophe was something else entirely. The Conclave had been a disaster, the Temple of Sacred Ashes entirely destroyed. All those who had attended had perished. And now reports were coming in of strange rifts into the Fade, aftereffects of the great hole in the sky. Demons seemed to be pouring out of them, killing any who ventured too close.

He had imprisoned Hawke along with the dwarf, Varric, and put them under the guard of several of his best soldiers. Both of their weapons had been taken. Rutherford had taken a squadron of soldiers up the pass to hold off the demons pouring out of the rifts in the Veil, and to try and find a way to close them if he could. And Cassandra had gone directly to the Temple, looking for further evidence of what had transpired.

Edric had stayed behind; someone had needed to keep things in order. He snorted. But how exactly was he to go about restoring the peace? This was… it was a disaster. Most of the Chantry’s clerics had been at the Conclave, and the Divine herself was likely dead. Was this the work of a rogue Templar? Or a rebel mage? He had no way of knowing, and he wasn’t too hopeful about the results of Cassandra’s search.

And Evelyn…

He’d slammed Hawke against the Chantry wall and demanded an explanation. He regretted that, truly he did – violence was never the answer. But he hadn’t been able to help himself; he’d been filled with rage at the mage’s words, a dark, terrifying emotion that had nearly overwhelmed him. It had been Cassandra’s harsh call of his name that had reminded him of where he was. He thanked the Maker that she had been there; if she hadn’t… well, Kirkwall might have been in need of a new Champion.

Evelyn had come to find him. Hawke had explained how their mother had healed him, and how he’d stolen their father’s horse. Evelyn had been incensed, and had gone to get the horse back. Edric smiled; that was so very like her, acting before she thought of the danger she might face.

His smile faded when he remembered that Hawke had then taken her back to the village only to find it destroyed, the Trevelyan family long gone. Why had none of them gone back to look for her? Why had he still not heard from them? Though some of his questions had been answered, others still nagged him incessantly. And now…

Edric shook his head, forcing the grief that threatened to overcome him away. He couldn’t afford to think about it now, not with so many people depending on him. So many had been killed... it would be selfish to think only of his personal loss.

“Edric!”

He looked up sharply, recognizing Cassandra’s voice instantly. She had returned from the mountain, running towards him with a frantic expression on her face. The soldiers that had accompanied her were lagging behind, carrying something between the two of them. A survivor?

He ran forward to meet them, and nearly fell to his knees when he saw the woman in the soldiers’ arms.

“Evelyn,” he said weakly, hands reaching out for his sister. “Is she…?”

“Physically, she is unharmed.” Edric turned at the unfamiliar voice. An elf stepped forward, a staff strapped behind his back. He looked nothing like the Dalish Edric had seen, his face bare of tattoos and his clothes simpler. “But she is weakening.”

“What do you mean?” Edric asked sharply. He looked over to Cassandra. “Who is this?”

“This is Solas,” she replied stiffly. He was pleased to note that she was eyeing the elf warily. _She does not trust him either_. “We found him near the Temple. He says that he was traveling nearby when the explosion drew his attention. He is a mage – one who studies the Fade.”

“I thought perhaps my expertise could be of help,” Solas added. “I have spent many years studying arcane magic, particularly the Fade, as well as the healing arts.”

“We were ambushed by demons shortly after we found him,” Cassandra continued. “He… did help us drive them away.”

“What were you doing that you were so near at hand?” Edric asked.

“Traveling to the south,” the elf replied, a touch more coldly.

Edric opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Cassandra forestalled him. “Edric, there is something you should know about Evelyn.”

He turned to her. “What is it?”

“She… when we found her, she…”

“What the Seeker is trying to say is that your sister fell out of the Fade, unconscious,” Solas explained, his tone academic. “When she did so, the original rift that opened at the Temple was sealed, preventing more demons from coming through. I do not think it is permanent, but for the moment, the area is clear.”

“Obviously we have much to discuss,” Edric said flatly.

The elf chuckled. “Indeed,” he agreed. “But first – I need to take care of your sister.” He reached down to grab her left hand, raising it up so that all could see it. A strange green light emanated from her palm, magic simmering just beneath her tanned skin.

It felt… strange. Edric had been around enough mages to recognize the sensations of magic; using magical energy released a certain aura. Lyrium allowed Templars to sense this aura, to tune in to the type of magic being used. Even before a spell was cast, he could recognize the searing heat of fire magic, or the cool wash of a healing cleanse.

But this was unknown to him.

“What is that?” Edric asked.

“We do not know,” Solas replied. “It is magic of some kind – ancient magic, very old. She stepped out of the Fade with it. She did not have such a mark before?”

Edric hesitated; should he reveal that Evelyn was a mage? Perhaps it was pertinent to the situation, but it was also not his secret to tell. And already, he could the see nervous glances being sent in Solas’ direction, the way the soldiers stood just far enough away from the elf that he could not reach out and touch them. It was as his mother had taught him - the elf was an apostate, and that was all that the men saw. _Better to keep her secret safe_ , he concluded. _For the moment._

“No,” he said finally. “She did not have it before.”

Solas’ eyes narrowed. “I see,” he replied. “Then something has happened to her. Regardless, this mark is hurting her – killing her even.”

“ _Killing_ her?” Edric repeated, voice sharp with fear.

“I believe I can stabilize it, prevent it from doing any further damage,” the elf said quickly. “But I must hurry – there is no time to delay.”

Edric turned on his heel and walked a few feet away, motioning for Cassandra to follow him. “I don’t trust him,” he said darkly. “The explosion destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes, we have no leads on the perpetrator, and he just _happens_ to be traveling nearby? There is something strange about him.”

“I agree,” she said, looking back at the group. “It is too convenient. And yet…” She paused, pursing her lips. “He helped us, Edric. He did not have to do that. And when I questioned him, he seemed to know much of the Fade. He says that he has studied it for years. Perhaps he is a good person to have on our side.”

“He must be watched,” Edric said firmly.

“Leliana will see to it,” she replied. “After this happened right under our noses… she will be very cautious. And I will keep an eye on him as well. I do not trust him, either.”

A sudden cry broke through the still night air. Edric turned back, trying to find the source of the noise, only to see Evelyn writhing in the soldiers’ grip. “Evelyn!” he shouted, rushing to her side. The mark in her hand flared with a sudden brilliance, and he had to shield his eyes. Solas doused her with healing magic, fighting back the mark’s malevolence. Edric watched for several fearful moments as his sister continued to struggle, and then finally fell limp.

Solas stepped back, panting. “I know that you are wary of me,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You have every right to be suspicious, for you do not know me. But she is dying, and I believe I have the skill to save her. Please – let me do this.”

Edric had no hesitations this time. He nodded to the elf, and then turned to the soldiers. “Take her to my tent,” he instructed. “See that he gets whatever he needs.” They saluted and turned around, heading in the direction of his tent. Solas made to join them, but Edric reached out and grabbed his arm. The elf raised an eyebrow at him. “Help her,” Edric implored. He couldn’t help but remember the way Evelyn’s face had been contorted in pain just moments before; he didn’t want to see it again. “Please.”

Solas nodded. “I will do all that I can,” he said. Edric released him, and he rushed off to join the soldiers.

Edric watched them go, waiting until they were out of sight before turning to Cassandra. She was studying him cautiously, as if gauging his reaction. “Come,” he said, heading towards the Chantry. “It’s time we spoke with the Champion.”

*

Varric sighed.

Why did these things always happen to him?

At first, he’d thought it was Hawke; the guy had a certain knack for getting into trouble. But the more he pondered it, the more he realized that his bad luck didn’t really have anything to do with Hawke. After all, Hawke hadn’t had anything to do with Bianca. Or Bartrand being corrupted by the red lyrium. Or his being imprisoned by the Seeker. No, that was all him, him and his shit luck.

The Maker sure had a funny sense of humor.

On the other side of the cell, Hawke was still pacing. He’d run his hands through his hair one too many times, and now it was sticking up in all directions. It gave him a frazzled look; Varric would’ve found it amusing had the situation not been… well, what it was.

His friend was in rough shape. There was a hollow, distant look to his eyes, his jaw set angrily. He looked like he was torn between hanging his head in his hands and bashing his fist against the wall. Varric didn’t blame him – grief was a peculiar emotion. One minute, you were sobbing, and the next, you were hitting everything in sight.

Both of them looked up at the sound of footsteps on the flagstones.

“Now who could that be?” Varric murmured, pushing himself to his feet.

The Seeker walked into the room first, a set of keys in her hands. She unlocked the door to their cell and then stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. Trevelyan followed her, his hands filled with two lit torches. He placed these in nearby brackets, illuminating the dim dungeon with light.

Hawke took a cautious step towards the cell’s door. When the Seeker didn’t immediately order him to stay back, he took a few more steps, stopping just outside the bars of the cage. Varric followed his lead, keeping a wary eye on Trevelyan. He had no doubts that the Templar could pick him and quite literally throw him back in the cell if he wanted.

“I have good news,” Edric said, turning to face the two of them. Despite his words, his face was impassive, decidedly neutral. “My sister is alive.”

Hawke was dumbfounded. “She’s… _alive?”_ he repeated, incredulous. He swallowed thickly, suppressing the raw emotion in his voice. “How?”

“We… don’t know.” Trevelyan and the Seeker shared a glance then, and something passed between them unspoken. “Seeker Pentaghast went to the Temple in the aftermath of the explosion, attempting to see if the perpetrator left any evidence behind. The Temple itself is in ruins, completely destroyed. There were… no survivors. Everyone in the Temple is now dead. Everyone, that is, except for my sister.”

“I’m missing something here,” Varric said. “Your sister went to the Temple, and then it got blown to bits. But she survived? How?”

“It appears that she was in the Fade when the explosion happened – she fell out of a rift in the Veil soon after we arrived,” the Seeker interjected. Hawke’s eyes snapped up to her then; as a mage, he likely understood the implications of that far better than anyone else in the room. Varric had to suppress a shudder; he’d only been in the Fade once, and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. But if it saved you from an explosion… well, perhaps that was alright. “Something pushed her. A spirit, perhaps?”

Hawke shook his head. “Spirits don’t shove people,” he said.

The Seeker’s eyes flashed angrily. “ _Something_ helped her escape,” she said firmly. “It looked like a woman. One of my men suggested it was Andraste herself.” Hawke and Varric both snorted at that.

“It’s unlikely,” Edric said, cutting their laughter off short with a disapproving glance. “The important thing is that she’s alive.”

“But not unharmed,” the Seeker murmured.

“What?” Hawke’s voice was sharp. Varric didn’t miss the intensity of the reaction and it puzzled him. _Huh_.

Trevelyan patiently explained Evelyn’s predicament. Some form of magic had left its mark on her, while at the same time, a bunch of rifts into the Fade had popped up in the surrounding area. There seemed to be sort of connection between the two – they pulsated with the same, eerie green light.

Varric wasn’t really paying attention to the details; he wasn’t a mage, or a Templar. The intricacies of magic were lost on him. Instead, he paid attention to Hawke.

His friend was hanging onto every word the others spoke of Evelyn, worry plain on his face. It was similar to the worry he’d expressed over their friends back in Kirkwall, but at the same time it was different. It was… more poignant. He’d only known this girl for what, a month? And already, he was showing as much fear for her wellbeing as he would show for Fenris, Anders, Isabela?

That meant something.

Something big.

But he didn’t have time to ponder it any longer, for the conversation had turned away from magic and the Fade. He began to listen again, not wanting to miss anything important.

“But she’ll be alright?”

“We hope so,” the Templar replied. “A mage is seeing to her at the moment, monitoring her situation. We must have faith in his abilities.” Hawke nodded slowly. “The question remains, however, about what to do with you.”

“Do I have options?” Hawke asked shrewdly. “Or is this non-negotiable?”

“You would joke, at a time like this?” the Seeker demanded. She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat, one Varric was quite used to hearing. He had to admit, it was a lot funnier when it wasn’t directed towards him.

“It’s a perfectly legitimate question!” Hawke replied. “You didn’t seem to give my friend here any choice regarding his imprisonment. Why should I expect any different?”

The Seeker opened her mouth to reply, but Edric beat her to it. “We aren’t going to keep you here against your will,” he said firmly. The Seeker’s eyes went wide with shock. “Nor will we detain your friend any longer. If you wish to leave, you may do so at any time.”

“Edric! You cannot be serious!”

He shot the Seeker a quizzical look. “I’m very serious,” he said. “The Divine wanted Hawke to lead the Inquisition. And now, she is dead. We don’t even know if there will still _be_ an Inquisition. The Conclave was supposed to end the fighting, but this may well throw the world into even more chaos than ever. Can we fix it?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. But we certainly won’t be able to if we recruit by force.”

“About that,” Hawke said. “What exactly did the Divine want me to do? I’m flattered that she had such faith in me, of course. So many people don’t, and it’s really quite insulting. But did she forget that a lot of clerics wanted me dead?”

“Divine Justinia was more progressive than you give her credit,” the Seeker snapped. “She was not like the rest of those… bureaucrats!”

“Indeed,” Trevelyan agreed. “Our spymaster reports that the Divine thought that your actions in Kirkwall were harsh, but necessary. She had no love for Knight-Commander Meredith either.”

“That’s strange. I don’t seem to recall her ever speaking out on the injustices Meredith _openly_ committed.”

“And what would you have had her do?” the Seeker demanded. “If she had advocated for the mages, the Chantry would have-”

“What, rebelled?” Hawke retorted. “You mean like the mages did? And now the Templars?”

“Now, now, children, let’s not get too feisty.” Varric sensed the need to interject. He shot Hawke a warning look and received a lovely eye roll in response. It was still better than the disgusted noise he elicited from the Seeker. He sighed and looked up at Edric. “So Tree, since you and I seem to be the only two people here capable of speaking to each other civilly, tell me. What are our options?”

If he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn that he saw the Templar’s mouth quirk in amusement. “As I said, you may leave if that is your wish,” he replied. “If not, we could use your help - the both of you. You were instrumental in saving Kirkwall from the Qunari and having you at our side, Hawke, would greatly lift morale. They don’t call you the Champion for nothing.”

“And what do you plan on doing? You just said yourself that you don’t know if the Inquisition will still be formed after this.”

It was a few moments before the Templar replied. “I still wish to help people,” he said quietly. “I came to Ferelden for that reason. Those of us who have left our Orders, including Seeker Pentaghast, have faith that we can stop this war, that we _must_ stop this war. I would still make the Inquisition. I would still try to make some good come of this terrible crisis.

“Many people have been harmed by the fighting between the mages and Templars,” he continued. “We can help them. We have garnered the resources to help refugees dislocated by the conflict, and we have soldiers to fight the rebels of both factions.” He sighed. “I suppose now that the sky has torn open, _that_ too, is our responsibility.”

“ _Can_ you fix that?” Hawke asked.

“We’re… working on it.”

Varric sighed. This was a lot to take in at one time. Hawke seemed to be facing a similar dilemma, unwilling to give an answer without thinking on the matter further.

_Dammit, I need a drink_. He had half a mind to ask for one. But now wasn’t the time.

“Give us some time to think,” Varric said instead.

Trevelyan nodded. “There is food and drink in the mess tent,” he said. “It is just outside the Chantry, on your left. Take what time you need, but do not tarry, for we must work quickly. Come and find me or Seeker Pentaghast once you have made your decision.”

Well, perhaps he’d get that drink after all.

“You aren’t afraid we’ll run off?” Hawke asked; he sounded surprised. He truly must have not thought much of them.

“No,” Edric said, turning to leave. The Seeker made to follow him, anger still darkening her features.

Hawke shrugged. “Risky move.”

“Not at all.” The Templar chuckled. “We still have the dwarf’s crossbow. He won’t leave without it.”

“Dammit!”

*

“So, what do you going to do now?”

Hawke glanced up, swallowing a mouthful of stew. Varric was looking at him curiously, sipping from a flagon of ale. “It depends,” the mage replied slowly.

“On what?”

“Mainly what you intend to do.”

Varric chuckled. “I should’ve guessed you’d say that,” he muttered. He looked out at the tents surrounding them, taking in the situation. “I don’t know, Hawke. Kirkwall was one thing. It’s just a city – a big city, of course, but shit, we weren’t dealing with a _war_. This…” He broke off, shaking his head. “Rifts into the Fade, demons, a giant hole in the sky... this is a shitstorm, and if we go in, we’re not getting out anytime soon.”

Hawke had come to much the same conclusion. This wasn’t a fight that could be won in a day, or even a week. If they were to join Trevelyan’s fledgling Inquisition, they would be in it for the long haul. That meant years – a long time for an apostate to be out in the open. If he threw his weight behind this Inquisition, what would the Chantry do? A Seeker of Truth and a Knight-Captain of the Templars led it, but would that mean anything to the clerics who wanted his head?

It wasn’t that he was afraid of the danger. He’d been in danger since he’d first stepped foot in the Gallows. He wasn’t hesitant to join the Inquisition because of that. Nor was he afraid of attempts being made against the lives of his friends in retaliation – as a Grey Warden, Carver was isolated and secure. Aveline had the City Guard to protect her. And Isabela was more than capable of watching her own back. The others were already in hiding, having fled Kirkwall when the war broke out.

He wanted to help, truly. He had played a role in starting the mage rebellion – it was fitting that he aided the refugees that had been harmed in its aftermath. It was fair, even. And perhaps it would give him the opportunity to speak out on the injustices against mages.

But was it what _he_ wanted?

He understood why the Divine had wanted him as the Inquisition’s leader, why Trevelyan still wanted him there. He was a figurehead. People knew who he was, and what he stood for. Everyone wanted a Champion on their side.

But truth be told, he wasn’t sure how much he could do. Oh, he could slay demons and protect the refugees; he would gladly do that all day. But more and more rifts had been found throughout the afternoon, their locations farther away too. And they still hadn’t figured out a way to close the Breach, as they had named the hole in the sky. What could he do against that? What could any of them do?

For perhaps the first time in his life, Hawke felt out of his league.

He turned to look at Varric. Despite the frantic, tense atmosphere, his friend seemed calm. He was observing the military style camp that had taken over Haven, taking note of everyone who passed them by.

“You’re going to stay, aren’t you?” he asked suddenly, finally recognizing the glint in the other’s eyes for what it was – determination.

Varric shrugged. “Oh, probably,” he agreed. “I don’t think this is a fight I can afford to sit out. None of us can.”

“The stakes are very high,” Hawke agreed.

“Does that mean you’re staying? Will you be their Inquisitor?”

“I don’t know yet.”

And that, he thought, was the crux of the issue. He didn’t want another title. He’d won the title of Champion for defending Kirkwall, but he’d nearly died to get it. Anders had literally had to stitch him back together, his body torn apart by the Arishok’s axe. It had been excruciating, the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. If he never saw another Qunari blade, it would be too soon.

He didn’t want to be a leader. He didn’t want to be a figurehead. He was willing to help refugees, and he was willing to be a soldier, but his time as the leader had come and gone.

“What do you think is going to happen to Evelyn?”

Hawke looked up, drawn from his thoughts. “I assume she’ll stay here, with her brother,” he replied. “What else would she do?”

Varric shrugged. “Just food for thought,” he said innocently.

A touch _too_ innocently.

“Varric,” he growled. “What do you mean by that?”

“I am just pointing out that she will be staying here when she recovers,” the dwarf said. “She will not be going with you if you decide to leave.”

“I know that.”

“Are you alright with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Varric shrugged. “It just seems to me that there’s… something about Evelyn.”

“Something…”

“You like her, Hawke.”

“Yes, I do.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “Maker, this is like pulling teeth,” he muttered. He took a deep breath and tried again. “You like her, Hawke. And not like you like me.”

“First Isabela, and now you?” Hawke snorted, evading the question.

He hadn’t decided how he felt about Evelyn, but he could no longer believe that it was just friendship. When he’d thought she was dead… it had hurt. Far more than it should have, considering the length of time they’d known each other. He’d been unable to move, to _think_ , until her brother had thrown him up against the wall and demanded an explanation.

And then, hearing that she was alive… well, yes, there was definitely something there. But he certainly wasn’t going to tell Varric that. Knowing him, he’d write it into _another_ book.

“We _can_ help,” Hawke said, trying to ward off further conversation about Evelyn.

From the mischievous gleam in his eyes, Varric knew he avoiding the question. But the dwarf didn’t comment on it, merely smirking at the evasive maneuver. “We can,” he replied. “Probably more than most, too.”

“But _should_ we help?”

“Hawke.”

“I know,” Hawke said, waving a hand. “It was a stupid question.”

“You said it, not me.”

“So that’s it, then. We’re staying.”

Varric stood up, finishing the last of his beer. “I’ll go find Tree, let him know. He… might not be too fond of you.”

“Why would you think that?” Hawke asked, frowning.

“Well, seeing as how you want to get nice and cozy with Evelyn-” He yelped when Hawke threw his empty bowl at him. “Hey now! What did I do to deserve that?”

“You know exactly what you did.”

“I speak the truth!”

“If you say so.”

*

Evelyn woke with a gasp, startled out of her nightmare.

The ceiling above her was unfamiliar; she had been expecting the cold night air atop the mountain, and the stars and moon above her – not the rough fabric of a tent. Where was she? She scrunched her face up, trying to recall what had happened. The last thing she remembered had been… climbing up the mountain? And then what? There was a Temple… had she gone inside? She couldn’t remember.

Frustrated, she turned her head to the side, trying to get a better glimpse of her surroundings. A white-hot flare of pain erupted behind her eyes, and she groaned. She brought a hand up to her face, pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead. It did nothing to soothe the ache.

“Here,” a calm voice suggested.

She looked up to see an elf walking over to her, a small vial in his hands. He offered it to her, and she took it cautiously. “It is a healing potion,” he said. She sniffed it hesitantly and was rewarded with the fragrant smell of elfroot. Her suspicion satisfied, she drank it all in one motion, handing the vial back to him when she was finished. Almost instantly, the ache in her head eased, and she sighed in relief.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

“You are welcome,” he replied. He sat down on a nearby stool, studying her intently. “You have been asleep for several days now – be cautious not to move too quickly, or you may feel faint. Other than your head, do you feel any pain? You survived an explosion, after all.”

An explosion?

“No,” she replied. Her eyes flicked around the tent warily; the front half looked to be an office of some sort, a desk laden with papers situated across from a few chairs. The back half, where she was, appeared to be someone’s sleeping area. She looked back at the elf, more confused than ever. “What… what happened? Where I am?”

“This is the village of Haven,” the elf said. “More specifically, your brother’s tent. You were found at the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the lone survivor of the Conclave.” The Temple… it had been destroyed? When? Why? She must have been staring at him blankly, for he paused. “You do not remember any of this?” he asked.

“I remember walking up the mountain,” she admitted. “After that… nothing.”

“Then you cannot recall how _this_ happened?” He reached out and picked up her left hand, turning it over so that her palm faced upwards. To her surprise, it was glowing. A bright green light shone from beneath her skin, pulsing every so often.

It was magic.

“What is that?” she asked, recoiling from the strange mark.

“We do not know,” he said, calmly setting her hand down. Evelyn turned it over in her lap, finding the pulsating light deeply unsettling. “Some form of magic. When you were first discovered, you were unconscious, but it appeared to be killing you. You were feverish, fitful.” She looked up at him sharply. “I have managed to halt its progress, but I cannot keep the magical forces at bay for much longer.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, her voice small. “Am I… am I going to di-”

“Evelyn!”

She looked up just before she was enveloped in a fierce hug. “Edric!” she gasped, as much from lack of breath as from excitement. He pulled away, grinning, and then leaned back in, squeezing her tight.

“You cannot believe how happy I am to see you,” he said.

“I think I can!” she choked out. “I can’t breathe!”

He let her go then, sitting down on the cot, and turned to the elf. “How is she, Solas?”

The elf – Solas? – launched into an explanation, telling Edric the same things that he had told Evelyn a few moments before. Her brother took the news no better than she did. “What do you mean, you cannot halt its progress?” he asked.

“As I have told you before, my best guess is that this mark is somehow tied to the Breach,” Solas replied, his voice calm. “Until we manage to stabilize that, the mark will continue to affect her.”

“And how do we stabilize it? Have you any ideas?”

“Actually, I-”

“The Breach?” Evelyn repeated, confused. Both of them turned to look at her. “What’s going on?”

The two men looked at each other, each seeming to wait for the other to launch into an explanation. Finally, Edric stood and held out a hand to her. “Come,” he said quietly. “It is better that you see this for yourself.”

She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. She staggered a bit, muscles weak after being asleep for so long. It was slow going to the front of the tent, for Edric was almost carrying her, the tips of her toes barely touching the ground. When she finally felt the cool air hit her face, she grasped one of the tent’s poles, leaning against it gratefully.

“There,” Edric said, stabbing a finger into the night sky. “That is the Breach.”

Evelyn followed his finger with her eyes and gasped at what she saw. Above the village was a huge hole in the sky, blazing green with fey magic. It was like a pillar of light, casting an eerie glow upon the world below. “What is it?” she murmured.

“It is a breach in the Veil, hence its name,” Solas replied, coming to stand at her other side. “We do not know what caused it, but it appears to be linked to the explosion at the Temple. An explosion you survived.” He tilted his head in question. “And you cannot remember what happened?”

“No,” she said softly. “I…”

“Do not worry,” Solas continued. “Perhaps your memories will return. I believe that the mark and the Breach may be related. You did not have this before, yes?” She shook her head. “Then the two events seem to coincide.” He turned to Edric. “That may be the key.”

“What do you suggest?” Edric asked.

“Perhaps the mark can be used to seal those rifts,” the elf explained.

Edric quirked an eyebrow at him. “That is a bold hypothesis,” he replied.

“Indeed. But as we were journeying down the mountain, we passed several rifts. Each time, the mark she bears sparked – but for what? Recognition? Nearness?” Solas shook his head. “We will have to test it before we can be sure. But I believe we may have found the answer to our problem.”

Edric considered this for a moment, and then nodded. He turned back to Evelyn. “Would you be willing to go to the rifts and try to seal one?” he asked. “It would be dangerous, but I will send some of my best men with you.”

“I will go with you as well,” Solas added. “In case you have further need of my aid. Do you feel strong enough to carry a weapon? I can give you a stamina potion if you are still feeling weak.”

A weapon. She had no weapon - just herself.

“Edric,” Evelyn murmured, not quite meeting her brother’s eyes. “Are you… in charge here? The leader?”

“I am one of several leaders,” he replied. “But yes. Why?”

She took a deep breath, knowing that what she was about to say was a risk, and looked up. He was studying her carefully. Could he tell what she was thinking? Could he sense what she was about to say? His jaw tightened, and she saw a flurry of emotion pass through his amber eyes.

He knew.

“I will protect you,” he said firmly. “I swear it. But I will not make you do this. It is your burden; I will not make it heavier.”

She did know that. And she was cautious about revealing her secret to people that she barely knew. But at the same time, there was a hole in the sky and she possessed what was perhaps the only way to fix it. She would likely have to fight in order to get there. And fighting meant using her magic.

“I do not think the situation is _that_ precarious,” Solas said wryly.

Evelyn shook her head. “You don’t understand,” she said lightly, turning back to him. “I… I’m a mage.”

The elf’s expression darkened, and he shot an angry look at Edric. “Your sister is a mage, and you did not think to tell me?” he demanded.

“He was protecting me,” Evelyn said quickly, defending her brother’s actions. Solas looked back at her, brows still drawn down into a frown. “I was trained by my mother, and never sent to a Circle. The Chantry would label me an apostate if they knew.”

Solas considered this, his anger seeming to abate. He nodded then and sent her a soft smile. “My apologies then, Knight-Captain,” he said to Edric. “That is understandable. My concern comes from the possibility that her magic may interfere with the magic of the mark.” His blue eyes flicked back to Evelyn. “But from one apostate to another, I can certainly understand your secrecy.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn breathed. “Edric has protected my secret for years.”

“Out of curiosity, why reveal it now?” he asked.

She snorted. “There is a hole in the sky,” she replied. “And I seem to have survived an explosion that no one else did. If there was ever a time to use what strengths I have given… I think now is the time.”

Solas’ lips quirked up in a wry smile. “Sensible words,” he said, approval ringing through his voice. “In that case, perhaps a lyrium potion is what you need.” He walked back into the tent and returned several moments later, another vial in his hands.

Evelyn recognized the blue liquid, hesitating only a moment before tipping its contents down her throat. It was cool, with a strange aftertaste. She shuddered, unsure of whether she liked it or not. But she felt her mana replenish almost instantly, the fatigue lifting from her shoulders like a cloak thrown off the shoulders.

“I will send Seeker Pentaghast with you,” Edric said, stepping out of the tent and looking around the area. “As a Seeker, she is skilled in fighting demons. She will be able to weaken them, new as they are to this world.” He looked back to Solas. “Find Commander Rutherford – he is holding fast at one of the rifts, but his men cannot last indefinitely. If you can close it, his men would have a much needed break from the fighting.”

Solas nodded. “I believe I know where he is,” he replied. “Have you any other men who have fought demons before? Their aid would be helpful.”

Edric hesitated, his gaze shifting to Evelyn. She frowned; what was that look for? He seemed so sure of himself, so commanding. Why the hesitation now?

“Perhaps the Champion may be of use?” Solas suggested.

_Hawke_.

Evelyn inhaled sharply. She had forgotten all about him! Was he alright? Had he successfully rescued his friend? It seemed unlikely, if he were still here.

Edric scowled at her soft gasp. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “I will go and-”

“Hawke’s here?” Evelyn interjected.

“Yes,” Edric said tersely.

“Is he hurt?” she asked. “Is he safe?”

“He’s fine!” Edric said sharply, then sighed. “Forgive me, Evelyn. I did not mean to snap. It is… the Champion is…” He stopped and gathered his thoughts. “He has agreed to help our cause. His friend, Varric, has too. Both of them feel the situations is too dangerous to ignore.”

“Can I see him?”

He was going to say no. She could see it on his face.

To her surprise, Solas stepped in. “I can take her to his cabin,” he offered. “It is on the way to Adan. I would prefer to replenish my stores of elfroot before we venture up the mountain.”

Edric glared at the elf, but couldn’t seem to find a reason to disagree. “We will meet at the gates in half an hour,” he said shortly. “Do not be late.” He stalked off then, soldiers jumping out of his way as he passed.

“Come,” Solas said suddenly, walking in the opposite direction. Evelyn ran to catch up, still bewildered by her brother’s hostile behavior. It wasn’t like him; Edric was usually very good at keeping his temper in check. What had gotten him so riled up?

“Your brother is very protective,” Solas said amusedly, shooting Evelyn a wry glance.

“That’s what older brothers are for,” she said lightly.

Solas chuckled, but said nothing.

Evelyn’s heart began to hammer nervously as they entered the village. She was anxious to see Hawke again, and glad that he had decided to stay. Why? She wondered. It was putting his safety at risk, wasn’t it? He’d been very clear that certain people wanted him dead for his actions in Kirkwall.

_Why then would he stay behind?_

Because he was a good man. He’d said it himself – in his own words, helping people was kind of what he did. That must have been why he’d stayed; he’d see an opportunity to help, and he’d taken it, damned be the consequences to himself.

They stopped at the top of a flight of stairs hewn from the rocky ground; three cabins stood before them. “Hawke has been staying in that cottage,” Solas said quietly, pointing to the building to their left. “I will be in the apothecary if you need me,” he continued, this time motioning to the building straight ahead of them.

Evelyn nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

He left her with another amused smirk. She cautiously stepped over to the cabin he had mentioned, stopping before the entryway. Should she knock? She raised her hand to rap on the door - but what would she say?

That she was sorry?

That she was glad that he had stayed?

Before she could talk herself out of it, she rapped her knuckles against the door. The action sounded timid to her ears; when he didn’t respond, she wondered if perhaps he hadn’t heard it at all.

“Hawke?” she murmured. “Are you in there?”

Still, there was no response.

Hesitantly, she pushed the door open – just enough that she could see inside. The cabin appeared to be separated into two rooms, a wall obscuring the sleeping area. “Hawke?” she called out again, louder this time.

Evelyn walked into the front room, the door slipping closed behind her. It banged shut louder than she would have liked. She heard a chair scoot against the floor in response, followed by a quick set of footsteps, and then Hawke was storming into the room, an annoyed expression on his face.

“I don’t know who you are, but where I come from, it’s considered polite to knock…” He broke off when he saw her. “Evelyn,” he murmured.

It was only then she noticed that he was shirtless. She flushed at the intimate sight of his naked torso, a dark trail of hair leading down beneath his trousers. His firm muscles clenched as he took a step towards her, and she swallowed, attempting to alleviate her suddenly dry mouth. _Don’t stare!_ She wrenched her gaze away from his bare chest, forcing herself to look back at his face. But what she saw there was little better, the heated look in his eyes burning through to her to the core.

Before she could speak, he’d closed the distance between them, pulling her into his arms in a fierce hug. His skin was warm beneath her hands, and surprisingly smooth. And the smell – the faint scent of a masculine soap combined with the familiar odor of leather and steel. She tried to breath it in discreetly, burying her face against his chest to hide the action. His heart was hammering beneath his ribs.

Was he… nervous?

“Maker’s breath, but it’s good to see you!” he murmured into her hair, followed by a short laugh.

He released her then, holding her at arm’s distance. His eyes roved over her small frame, inspecting her for injury. “Are you alright?” he asked. “You’ve been asleep for days now. I tried to come and see you, but your brother’s kept me away from the soldiers.” He snorted. “Apparently, I’ve ruffled a few feathers.”

“I’m fine,” she replied. “I’m not hurt.”

“You’re sure?” He lifted a hand as if to touch her face. Her breath caught in her throat, anticipation sending a spike of heat through her core. But then he caught himself, drawing back. The air left her lungs in a rush, leaving her feeling strangely bereft.

He moved away, sitting down on a nearby stool. “I thought you were dead,” he said. “I thought…” He broke off with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I’m not,” she said firmly. “And don’t blame yourself. I know you want to.”

He chuckled and smiled at her. “Guilty as charged,” he admitted. He motioned for her to take the stool next to his. She did so hesitantly, her knees bumping into his in the tight space.

He didn’t move away.

“What about you?” she asked, quick to fill the silence. “Are you alright?”

“Me?” he repeated. “Never better. This mountain air has done wonders for my health.”

“And your friend, Varric. Did you find him?”

“He was rather grumpy about the accommodations, but he was unharmed,” Hawke replied. “I found him in the Chantry dungeons. I believe that was the Seeker’s doing.” He frowned. “I should watch my back. She seems to want to skin me alive. Have you met her yet?”

“No, though she’s supposed to go with us up the mountain.”

“Mountain?” he asked. “What are you going up there for?”

“Because of this,” she said, holding out her hand and revealing the mark on her palm. “We’re going to see if we can close the rifts.”

The humor in his face faded at the sight of it. He gingerly took her palm with his hands, bringing it closer for him to inspect. “What is this?” he murmured. He poked it with his index finger, and she winced at the unexpected pain that lanced through her. “I’m sorry,” he said instantly, releasing her hand as quickly as he’d taken it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Some kind of magic?” She shook her head, clenching her hand into a fist so that she wouldn’t have to look at the mark.. “No one seems to know exactly what it is. But Solas seems to think it may be the key to closing the rifts. That’s why we’re going up the mountain. We’re going to test it out.”

“Solas? The elf?” Hawke guessed. She nodded. “Hmmm… perhaps he’s right. I’ve spoken to him a few times. He knows much more of the Fade than I do.” He laid a gentle hand on her knee. “Does it hurt you?”

She shrugged, trying not to focus on his touch. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “It… twinges occasionally, but it doesn’t…” She huffed, annoyed that she couldn’t find the words. “It doesn’t hurt. Not really. It feels… tight? Like it’s been stretched almost to tearing.” He nodded in understanding.

Silence fell between them then. Hawke continued to stare at her hand, mesmerized by the bolts of light flashing from between her fingers. “I heard that it was killing you,” he murmured. “They said you were screaming at the pain…” He stopped, drawing in a deep breath before looking back at her. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Me too,” she said weakly.

That drew a chuckle from him, a warm, rich sound that seemed to ease both their nerves a bit. He was still smiling at her when his laughter faded. “So, rifts upon the mountain?” he asked. “Let me guess – you need my help in particular because of my expertise in slaying demons of all shapes and sizes?”

“If you’d be so kind.”

He half-bowed, throwing his hands out to the side. “I will gladly do as the lady asks,” he said. He looked down then and snorted. “I had better put my armor back on then.”

“That would probably be helpful,” she agreed, much as she didn’t want him to put it back on. She had decided she rather liked the view.

“Unless, of course, you prefer the sight of my bare chest?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. It was as if he’d read her thoughts. Evelyn flushed, unable to come up with a witty retort, and Hawke winked at her. “I’m just teasing you. I would never go into battle without my armor.”

He stood up and went into the back room. Evelyn took the time to press her hands against her cheeks, hoping to cool them down. _He’s just teasing you!_ She scolded herself. _No need to get so flustered!_ But she couldn’t deny that she liked the teasing… just a little bit. It gave her a little bit of hope that perhaps she wasn’t the only one in the room experiencing the pangs of attraction.

Hawke returned then in his normal ensemble. To her surprise, he held two staffs in his hands. She gasped in delight when she realized that one was hers, rising to her feet to take it back. “You saved it!” she said. He shot her a puzzled look. “I thought it would have been confiscated,” she clarified. “If they thought it odd that you had two staffs.”

The weapon felt good in her hands. She admired it for a moment before slinging it across her back in the fashion Hawke had taught her.

He was smiling at her again – that soft, sweet smile that made her inside clench. She scowled to hide how much it affected her. “What are you smiling at?” she demanded.

“You,” he said quietly. He put a hand on her shoulder, the tips of his fingers landing on the soft skin of her neck. She had to suppress a shudder; his touch felt familiar, intimate even. She leaned into it slightly, and his fingers curved instinctively against the plane of her throat.

Again, he jerked his hand back, letting it drop to his side. She blinked in surprise, and he cleared his throat, motioning towards the door.

“Come on. Let’s go skewer some demons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you're so inclined, I'd love to hear what you think! :)


	9. To the Rifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn learns to seal the rifts, and Cassandra and Edric come to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the last update for a bit because of the holidays. I will be out of town for about a week and have several more parties to go to. I'm sure I'll get some writing done while I'm stuffing myself with Christmas cookies and eggnog, but I don't want to make any promises for a new update in case I get held up!
> 
> Happy Holidays to everyone! :)

“On your left!”

Hawke’s cry of warning had its intended effect – the Seeker, Cassandra, leapt out of the way before pivoting and slashing out with her sword. The shade she’d hit hissed in anger at the wound, recoiling from the steel. But the warrior was relentless, lunging forward to stab at its core; after one more pitiful sound, it dissipated, its essence retreating back to the Fade.

Cassandra turned and gave him a curt nod before running forward to attack another group of the demons. Hawke snorted; it was as much thanks as he was likely to get.

He whirled around during a lull in the battle, eyes instantly moving to where Evelyn and Solas stood, ice and fire spells wreaking havoc upon the shades and wraiths besetting them. He grinned at Evelyn’s confident casting, the fluidity of her movements. There was no need to worry for her safety now; she’d become quite capable with the staff, and had taken his tips on fighting to heart. No longer did she run around the field, exhausting herself, and she kept her barriers strong to absorb stray magic.

A shade noticed his presence and made a beeline for him, claw-like talons reaching for him. “Oh, no, you don’t!” he laughed, snapping his staff around to skewer the demon with the blade. It hissed in pain, and Hawke quickly cast a lightning spell, the magic flowing down the staff to electrocute the thing from the inside.

It wasn’t long before all of the demons had been slain. The rift shrank and condensed with a strange, popping sound, and Evelyn’s mark crackled in response.

“Quickly!” Solas grabbed her and ran forward to the rift, hoisting her hand into the air.

A thin beam of green light erupted from her palm, connecting her hand with the rift. She staggered, and Hawke lurched forward, but Cassandra grabbed him, holding him back. He turned to her in surprise; when had she moved to his side? She shook her head, eyes still focused on the rift.

“Not yet,” she said firmly.

Hawke looked back at Evelyn just in time to see the rift jerk violently before imploding upon itself, completely disappearing. She fell to her knees, cradling her palm in her hand; this time when he rushed to her, Cassandra couldn’t stop him.

“Are you alright?” he asked quickly, dropping into a crouch so that he could see her face.

She looked up at him, giving him a weak smile. “I’m fine,” she said. Her eyes flicked over to Solas. “Did it work?”

“So it would seem,” the elf said, nodding. “As I suspected – the mark seems to bear the ability to close the rifts. Are there any adverse effects? Any pain?”

Hawke helped her to her feet as she replied. “It burns,” she admitted, looking down at her palm. “It was… it was like my hand was on fire.”

“And now?” Hawke prompted. “Does it still hurt?”

She shook her head. “No, now it’s fine.”

Solas nodded. “I suspect that is a result of the magic being pulled forcibly from the mark,” he replied. “We will have to be careful. The larger rifts will likely be more dangerous for you to attempt to seal.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Evelyn said firmly. “We have to seal them. I can handle the pain.”

“Good,” Cassandra huffed, finally making her way over to them. Varric followed her, though Hawke was quick to notice that he still gave the Seeker a wide berth. “We must push on. The Commander is ahead.” She stepped forward to continue up the path, not stopping to see if anyone followed her. Solas motioned for Evelyn to walk with him - likely to continue to probe her about the mark - leaving Hawke and Varric to bring up the rear.

“Charming woman,” Varric grumbled, motioning to the Seeker.

“Didn’t even give me time to catch my breath,” Hawke agreed. He understood the need for haste though; they needed to close the rifts as soon as possible in order to secure the area. As it was, people were still in danger from rogue demons.

“Evelyn fights well,” the dwarf continued. “You teach her that?”

“As much as I’d love to take credit, no,” he replied. “Her mother taught her how to cast. I just gave her a few pointers.”

“A natural, then.” The conversation lagged as they passed a particularly rough patch of the mountain, exertion stealing the extra breath from their lungs. As soon as they were back on the path, Varric spoke up again. “So, two apostates and a Templar live in a house in Ostwick…”

Hawke snorted. “And their father’s a disgraced nobleman,” he said. “Don’t forget to add that to the punchline.”

“Is he now?” Varric asked. He made a thoughtful noise. “Makes sense. Tree’s well spoken, and that nose? Very aristocratic.”

“Is it?” Hawke muttered. “I couldn’t tell. I was rather focused on the fist threatening to smash into my face.”

Varric chuckled. “Don’t take it personally,” he replied. “Older brother’s are always overprotective.”

“I’m an older brother, and I’ve never reacted that way!”

“Yeah, but you’re not protecting Evelyn. Your younger brother is _Junior_ ,” the dwarf said. “Since when has Junior ever needed someone to protect him? He’s bigger than you are!”

“You mistake me,” Hawke said, smirking. “Carver doesn’t need me to protect him from enemies. He needs me to protect him from himself.”

“Have you told him that?”

“Of course not. He’d throw something at me.”

“Why do you Hawkes have such a proclivity for throwing things at people?” Varric asked.

Hawke shrugged. “Just practicing our aim.”

“On heads?”

“Always aim for the most vulnerable part,” Hawke replied. He trotted forward a few steps then, looking back over his shoulder at his friend. “Come on. We’re falling behind.”

“Of course we are,” Varric grumbled. “Dwarves aren’t made for long distance running, you know.”

Hawke laughed, looking down at the dwarf – who was keeping pace just fine. “You just say that so people won’t make you run,” he joked. “We both know you’re faster than me.”

“Can you blame a man for trying?”

“Not at all.”

Oh, how he’d missed this. Varric was the first friend he’d made in Kirkwall, and his most trusted. He was also the only one who’d stood by his side through everything – the Deep Roads, the Qunari, the mess with the Chantry… the others had come and gone, always returning to his side eventually, but it was Varric who had stayed with him through thick and thin. Even Carver, had had to leave eventually; the taint in his blood had demanded that he join the Grey Wardens.

Varric was family, just as much as Carver was, as much as Bethany and Mother had been. You protected your family and stood by their side; you always wanted your family to watch your back. Now, with Varric back at his side, things felt right again. 

And what a good feeling that was.

*

“Commander!”

Evelyn looked up, panting. This fight had been more difficult than the first, though there had been fewer demons. She wasn’t used to this level of exertion, and she could feel her body tiring. Drawing on her magic was taking its toll as well; already, she’d cast more spells today than ever before in her life. Sealing the second rift had been the hardest trial yet, the burning sensation in her hand stronger this time. The effort it took to push through the pain had winded her, leaving her in her current state: hands on her knees, breathing hard.

Solas was studying her carefully, as he had after she’d closed the first rift. She didn’t like the scrutiny; it was too clinical, too sterile. It wasn’t the warm, worried gaze of Hawke.

“Evelyn.”

Cassandra’s voice intruded upon her thoughts, and she looked up, wary. What did the Seeker want? She didn’t seem to like Evelyn very much, shooting her sidelong glances the entire way up the mountain as if she thought she would run away at the first chance.

Evelyn had a sneaking suspicion that the only reason the other woman was tolerating her presence at all was because of Edric. It annoyed her. What had she done to merit such enmity?

A man was with Cassandra now. He was heavily armored, a shield on his back and a longsword at his hip. His features were drawn, tired, and his golden hair was curling with sweat. There was a shallow cut on his cheek as well, a trickle of blood stark against his pale skin.

“This is Ser Cullen Rutherford, the Commander of our forces,” Cassandra continued. “He has been holding the pass since the aftermath of the Conclave. Commander, this is Evelyn Trevelyan.”

Evelyn almost snorted at how terse the introduction she’d been given was in comparison to the Commander’s. She supposed it was to be expected; she didn’t exactly have any commendations to her name, other than her relationship with her brother.

The Commander nodded and turned back to Cassandra. “You closed the rift!” he said. _Even_ _his_ _voice_ _is_ _tired_ , Evelyn noted. “Have you discovered what is causing them?”

“It was not me who closed it,” Cassandra replied stiffly. She turned to Evelyn. “It was _her_ doing – hers and the mark she bears.”

He hesitated a moment before nodding in Evelyn’s direction. “At least we have a way to fight back now,” he said. “If we can stop the demons, we will have time to regroup and form a plan of attack.”

He stepped forward, holding his hand out to her. Evelyn took it warily. “I’m, ah, sorry if I appear distracted,” he continued, giving her a wan smile. “It has been a long several days, and I will admit to being exhausted. Don’t get me wrong, I am glad that you’re here.” He paused, studying her for a moment. “I worked with your brother, briefly. Good man.”

“You did?” Evelyn asked, raising an eyebrow. “When?”

“We spent many an hour together in Kirkwall, discussing the situation with the mages,” he replied. “He was one of the only Templars who tried to protect them. He wanted to speak with them, address their grievances, and purge the corrupted Templars from our ranks. Would that I had listened to him in the beginning, and not just at the end.” He sighed. “But enough of that.”

“At least you listened in the end,” Evelyn added, trying to be helpful.

“I… suppose.” He didn’t sound convinced. “At any rate, it is too late to change the past. We can only move forward.” She nodded in agreement.

“Cullen!”

The Commander jerked up sharply at the sound of his name, his gaze narrowing. “Hawke,” he breathed, taking a step back in surprise.

The other mage sauntered over, a grin on his face. “Nice to see you on this side of the sea… Curly.”

The Commander scowled at him, and then down at Varric, who’d walked over with Hawke. “I hate that nickname,” he said flatly. “You know that.”

“Everyone hates their nickname,” Varric replied. “That’s why people use them.”

“Yes, well…”

Hawke chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Articulate as always, I see,” he teased.

“What are you even doing here?” the Commander demanded, quite obviously trying to turn the conversation away from him. “I thought that you were in hiding after the incident.”

“The _incident?”_ Hawke repeated, snorting. He shook his head. “Not exactly the term I’d use to describe Meredith’s rampage.”

“Of course not,” the other man said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“As it so happens… I met Evelyn on the road,” Hawke continued, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes met Evelyn’s briefly, and he shot her a smile. “I was helping her get to her brother, who she thought was in Kirkwall. When we found out that he’d moved on, we came here.”

“All the way to Haven?” The Commander sounded genuinely surprised.

Solas stepped forward then. “Not to intrude, but might this conversation be saved for a better time and place?” he asked. The look he shot them was stern. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes awaits.”

“Of course,” Cassandra said. “We should continue on.”

“I will await your return,” the Commander said, nodding. “I don’t believe there are any more tears in the Veil between here and the Temple. But I could be mistaken – it is difficult to see the rifts until you are right upon them.” He turned to Evelyn then. “Good luck, Miss Trevelyan.”

 _Miss_ _Trevelyan_.

Evelyn would have snorted, had the situation not been so serious.

The Commander’s men were patiently waiting for him near the entrance to their forward camp, huddled together against the wind. Several were favoring wounds inflicted by the demons, and all of them looked weary to the bone. Though he’d seemed no less fatigued, the Commander was quick to help his men, lending a helping hand to those in need. Evelyn could see how he’d befriended her brother; they had similar leadership styles, preferring to lead as one of the men instead of as the best of them.

“Evelyn!”

She looked up to see Cassandra beckoning her forward; she and Solas were already climbing up the path to the Temple, Varric just behind them. The Seeker looked annoyed that she was lagging behind. Ignoring the embarrassed flush of her cheeks, Evelyn trotted towards them to catch up. Hawke was waiting for at the base of a large pile of rubble. He motioned for her use a path they’d created, mock-bowing as she approached him. “After you, _Miss_ _Trevelyan_ ,” he said, winking.

Evelyn rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t call me that,” she muttered.

“But why?” he teased. “Don’t you like it?”

“No!” she snapped.

“As you wish, Miss Trevelyan.”

She glared at him, which of course only made him laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Varric called over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” Evelyn shot back, increasing her pace so that she drew ahead of Hawke.

He followed her, reaching forward to grab her arm. She scowled up at him, jerking her arm away. “I’m sorry,” he said, grinning. “I won’t do it again.”

“You know, for whatever reason, I don’t believe you,” she grumbled.

“Smart move,” Varric interjected.

“Oh, stuff it,” Hawke told the dwarf.

“I’m just saying, you’ve been known to be a bit of a smartass!”

“That hurts, Varric. It really does.” Hawke turned to Evelyn, a mock-affronted look on his face. “Do _you_ think I’m a smartass?”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “Everyone’s a critic,” he complained.

Their conversation faltered when they noticed Solas and Cassandra had stopped. The two were staring out over the rise, somber and silent. _What do they see?_ Evelyn moved to meet them, breath catching in her throat when she saw the destruction of the Conclave.

It was a disaster.

A temple might have stood here once, but no more. Fragments of stone and wood were everywhere, scorched dark by fire. The stench of charred bodies and smoke was heavy in the air, making her eyes water. She blinked furiously to try and clear her vision, but it was no use. The air was too foul here.

Cassandra hopped down into the ruins, looking back at Evelyn. “This is where we found you.” She held out a hand to help Evelyn down the steep embankment, a hand which Evelyn gratefully took. The Seeker’s grip was firm and strong. “You were the only one to survive,” Cassandra continued, motioning to several of the bodies. “The rest… they must have been in agony.”

The corpses were contorted into positions that spoke of terrible pain – jaws wrenched wide in silent screams, hands covering heads in a small effort of protection. Some of them were still smoldering, little flames moving along their blackened skin in a macabre dance. Evelyn had to look away from them, her stomach churning at the mere sight.

“How did I survive?” she asked quietly, walking past the bodies towards a small section of wall that was still standing. She raised a trembling hand to the stone for support, taking deep breaths to fight off the nausea.

“We do not know,” Cassandra replied, following her into the ruins. “And as you have no memory of the event, it is unlikely we will _ever_ know.” She sounded disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” Evelyn blurted out, not knowing what else to say. It was obvious that Cassandra didn’t trust her, and honestly, Evelyn couldn’t say that she blamed the other woman. It _was_ suspicious that she had survived an explosion that none else had. But as she had no explanation for what had happened, she had nothing to say in her own defense.

“It is…” the other woman broke off with a huff. “It is regrettable. But you are helping us. We must restore order now. That is all that matters.”

Evelyn nodded her agreement, and together, they ventured deeper into the ruins of the Temple. There was a strange sense of wrongness here, a prickling sensation that nagged at the back of Evelyn’s mind. It was like the rifts, but stronger, more concentrated. She had a suspicious feeling that she’d felt this sensation before. But where? Try as she might, she couldn’t come to any sort of conclusion.

They turned a corner then, and found themselves face to face with another rift. This one was different from the others; a strange, undulating crystal sat at the center, sending curling tendrils of green light up into the sky. It was also huge, the largest one they’d encountered. Yet it also appeared to be closed – no demons were pouring forth from it, despite their proximity.

“There you are.”

Evelyn turned at the unfamiliar, accented voice. A woman was trotting over to them, her light armor covered by a faded purple hood. Red hair was peeking out from her covering, and her blues eyes were sharp, taking in every detail.

“Leliana!” Cassandra said, stepping forward to greet the newcomer.

“When I heard that you were coming to the Temple, I decided to stay and wait for you,” the redhead replied. She motioned to the area beneath them, towards the rift’s base. A group of soldiers were stationed there, eyes trained on the hole into the Fade. “I thought you could use some reinforcements.” Her eyes flicked over to Evelyn. “And this is her?”

Cassandra nodded, motioning Evelyn forward. “This is Edric’s sister, Evelyn Trevelyan,” she replied. “She was the survivor.” To Evelyn, she added, “This is Leliana, the Left Hand of the Divine.”

“Left Hand?” Evelyn repeated, unsure what the terminology meant.

“Her spymaster,” Leliana said, smiling.

“The Divine had a spymaster?” Evelyn asked, surprised.

Leliana chuckled. “Of course,” she replied. “It would be highly foolish to live in Val Royeaux and not maintain some sort of spy network.” She paused a moment before asking a question. “Your brother tells me that you do not believe in the Maker – is that true?”

“Yes,” Evelyn said hesitantly. Was that a problem? Was this woman, who had served the last Divine, going to berate her for her beliefs – or lack thereof?

“Then you do not agree with those calling you the Herald of Andraste?”

Evelyn frowned at the title. When she asked about it, Cassandra shifted around uncomfortably. “It is what the people are calling you,” she admitted. “Because of the woman the soldiers saw in the Fade behind you. They have claimed it was Andraste herself, and that she gave you that mark.”

Behind them, Solas snorted, much to Cassandra’s disdain.

Evelyn was inclined to agree with him. The mark was foreign to her, altogether alien, and its magic was like nothing she had ever experienced. The likelihood that it had been given to her by a long-dead prophetess seemed untenable at best. Furthermore, what would Andraste have been doing in the Fade? Surely she was at the side of the Maker, as the legends claimed?

“We can debate it later,” the Seeker said stiffly. She turned to the rift before them. “What can you tell of this rift, Solas? Why is it not reacting to Evelyn’s magic?”

“It is dormant,” he replied, inspecting it from a distance. “That is why there are no demons, and why the mark is not reacting.”

“If it’s dormant, shouldn’t we leave it alone?” Varric asked suspiciously.

“No,” the elf said firmly. “This rift was the first, and it is the key. I believe sealing it may stabilize the Breach, and the mark.” He turned to Evelyn. “Though it is inactive, I believe you may be able to reopen it. At that point, it will react like any other rift.”

“That means demons,” Cassandra said warily.

“Be on your guard,” Solas warned. “These demons will likely be stronger than any we have faced thus far.”

“Yet still vulnerable to a stab in the face,” Hawke grinned. He twirled his staff around in his hands for emphasis.

Solas smirked. “True enough,” he allowed. He turned to Evelyn then. “Are you ready?”

Evelyn nodded. Hawke and Varric stepped in beside her as she headed for the staircase that led down to the rift. She found their presence comforting in the strangeness. The rift filled the ruins with light and cast a strange fog about them, limiting their field of vision, and everywhere, giant red crystals poked out of the earth, crackling with energy.

“See that?” Varric said darkly. “More red lyrium.”

“Not exactly my favorite mineral,” Hawke said flatly.

“What is it doing here?” the dwarf asked. He shook his head. “I don’t like this, Hawke.”

“It is corrupted,” Solas remarked from behind them. “Something happened to this lyrium to make it tainted and foul.”

“Whatever you do, don’t touch it,” Varric advised.

Evelyn didn’t need him to tell her twice.

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

The odd, distorted voice made Evelyn’s blood run cold. She froze, looking around to see who had spoken. It was… familiar to her, and yet she couldn’t place it. Where would she have heard such a cold, sinister voice? At her side, Hawke pressed a little closer. He’d heard it too then – it wasn’t just in her head.

“Someone – help me!”

A second voice rang through the air, pleading and terrified. Evelyn didn’t stop this time, fearing that if she did so, she would never make it to the rift. This place was haunted, the memories of what had transpired warping reality. It frightened her in a way that the other rifts hadn’t.

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra said weakly, disbelief in her voice. “Hurry!”

The Seeker urged them on to the rift, looking around warily as if the late Divine would suddenly appear. Evelyn had no such illusions; she doubted anyone would have stayed in such an area. Her skin had already broken out in a cold sweat, and she had only been here a few minutes. The atmosphere would drive a person mad were they to stay longer.

But then who – or what – was speaking?

“What’s going on here?”

She drew up sharply. That was _her_ voice... but she hadn’t spoken. She looked at her companions, confused. Cassandra was staring at her, the expression of utmost surprise on her face startling Evelyn.

“That was your voice,” the Seeker said. “Most Holy called out to you. But –”

Above their heads, the rift suddenly sparked with energy. Evelyn held up her hands to shield her eyes from the abrupt burst of light. It lasted but a moment, fading away to reveal a strange scene. A tall, dark figure with baleful red eyes was towering over an old woman – she was held captive by something, and staring up at him in horror. Was the figure going to kill her? He was leaning towards her menacingly.

And then came something that Evelyn did not expect. _She_ burst into the scene, looking from the woman to the specter. “What’s going on here?”

It was strange, to see and hear herself. Evelyn’s jaw dropped in astonishment, but no words came out of her mouth. What was this? Some vision of the past? A trick of a demon?

“Run while you can!” the old woman cried out. “Warn them!”

“We have an intruder.” The figure’s voice matched the one she’d heard earlier, his icy tone suiting his menacing silhouette. He pointed to the image of Evelyn. “Slay the woman.”

The real Evelyn staggered back as another flash of light momentarily blinded her. Blinking furiously to regain her sight, she was immediately beset by Cassandra, the woman’s eyes narrowed at her in suspicion.

“Who attacked?” the Seeker demanded, accusation ringing in her voice. “And the Divine, is she…?” She cut herself off, as if she couldn’t bear to finish her sentence. When she spoke again, it was not directed at Evelyn, but at Solas, who had stepped closer to inspect the rift. “Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

“It is an echo of what happened,” the mage replied. He turned to face them. “The Fade is pouring into this space, overlapping the world of the living. This is but a memory, of trace of what transpired. I would guess that this occurred just before the explosion.”

“Is it true?” Cassandra asked intently.

“I cannot say,” Solas said. “The Fade is but a reflection of our world. We may be seeing what actually happened. Or this may simply be one possible interpretation of what happened. Regardless, there is likely a grain of truth here.”

The Seeker turned to Evelyn. “What happened?” she demanded.

“I don’t remember!”

“You were there!”

“And she doesn’t remember,” Hawke snapped. Evelyn looked over to him in surprise; he was glaring at the Seeker, who eyed him curiously for a moment before huffing out an angry breath and stomping away.

Evelyn shot him a look of gratitude. He nodded, taking Cassandra’s place at her side. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the rift.

She nodded. “I think so,” she replied.

“I don’t like how quiet it is,” he said, staring suspiciously at the crystal. “It makes me think there’s something waiting for us on the other side of the Veil.”

“Something?”

“A demon,” he clarified. “A greater demon.”

“What have we been fighting up until now?”

“Lesser demons,” he explained. “Shades, wraiths, terrors… they’re all nasty, don’t get me wrong, but they’re small fish compared to what lurks in the Fade.” He snorted, finally looking away from the rift. “It figures that one would be waiting for us here, now that we’ve had to fight our way up the mountain.”

“Just our luck,” Varric agreed, walking past them to climb up a pile of rubble. He positioned himself at the top of the mound, aiming his crossbow directly at the rift. “Ready when you are, Evelyn.”

“Evelyn?” Hawke repeated, raising an eyebrow. “No nickname?”

Varric shrugged. “Haven’t thought of one yet,” he replied. He grinned at Evelyn. “Don’t worry though, kid – it’ll come to me.”

“Is that a promise, or a threat?” she asked.

“A little of both, I suppose.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“You might live to regret those words,” Hawke warned her. “After all, he did name your brother ‘Tree’.”

“Well, he _is_ built like an oak,” she replied.

“See, Hawke?” Varric cried. “Someone gets it!”

Hawke sighed. “You had to say that,” he said mournfully.

The crunch of heavy boots on the charred ground announced Cassandra’s return. Her eyes flicked between Hawke and Evelyn for a few seconds before finally settling on Evelyn. “The rest of us are in position,” she remarked. Her tone suggested impatience, and irritation at the hold-up.

“Alright,” Evelyn replied. She turned to face the rift.

“I’m ready.”

*

“I see no way around it. We must publicly announce the Inquisition’s formation.”

Cassandra nodded at Edric from across the desk. “I believe so too,” she replied. “I fear this catastrophe has only deepened the divide between the mages and the Templars.”

“And the Chantry is in no longer in a position to put an end to the fighting,” he agreed. “Not with so many of the clerics dead.” He shifted around in his chair, attempting to find a more comfortable position. It was a futile attempt; there were only so many hours one could sit in a chair before everything started to hurt. “Have we any word from Val Royeaux?”

“Nothing,” Cassandra snorted. “We have contacted them multiple times, but no one is willing to speak with us. Some have even threatened to brand us heretics if we go forward with our plans.”

“No one will talk to us?” That surprised him; he’d known several high-ranking Chantry officials in his time as a Templar. They had all struck him as relatively progressive individuals working for the good of the people.

“None of the clerics,” she said. “The more liberal among them were all at the Conclave. And now they are –”

“Dead,” he finished for her. “I see.”

“Do you think that we can do this without the support of the Chantry?”

“We have to. We can’t sit idly by and watch as Thedas is ripped apart. This war has affected too many people for that.”

“I agree,” she said.

“And we are not completely out of Chantry support,” he reminded her, smiling. She stared at him uncomprehendingly, so he added, “We still have the Right and Left Hands of the Divine. That is something.”

She flushed at the praise. “I was a poor Right Hand,” she said harshly. “I did not defend her.”

“Cassandra-”

“She died under my protection,” she said, cutting him off. Her eyes flashed, warning him not to contradict her. “There is no excuse for that.”

“Perhaps.” He paused, waiting for her posture to relax. “But had you been with her, you would likely have died as well. And then we would not have had your leadership.”

“You hardly need me,” she replied. Now it was her turn to fidget in her chair; she was unused to praise, and hated flattery. “You have done just as much as I have. And Leliana-”

“Leliana is not a leader,” Edric reminded her. “She is a spymaster. She is also far more liberal than the Chantry is willing to accept at this point. They would never listen to her. And I am a Templar. Though I have renounced the Order to help restore peace, people will never be able to look past my armor and the lyrium I carry in my belt. You are unique, Cassandra. And you are needed here.”

“I…” She trailed off, uncertain of what to say. “Thank you, Edric. That is… it is good to be needed.”

He smiled warmly at her. “It’s more than just that,” he said. “More than the Inquisition, I need you. You’ve kept me sane these past few days.”

“I have?” she questioned, surprised.

“Yes, you.” He chuckled. “If not for you, I would have despaired over my family. Then with Hawke… well, had you not been there, I would have done something that I would deeply regret. I rely on you, Cassandra. I trust you know that you can rely on me as well.”

“I do,” she said quickly. “Know that, I mean.”

“Good.”

Cassandra cleared her throat then, eager to change the subject. “How is your sister?”

“She has not awoken,” Edric replied. “But Solas says she is doing well.”

When the small group had returned from the Temple, Evelyn had been unconscious in Hawke’s arms. Edric had panicked, thinking her dead from the mark. Solas had quickly explained that closing the large rift in the ruins of the temple had been extremely challenging, and in her already fatigued state, she had simply collapsed. The elven mage had been carefully monitoring her ever since, encouraging rest above all else.

“We must speak with her when she wakes,” Cassandra continued. “She is the only one who can close these rifts.”

“I have no doubts that she will help us,” he said calmly. The look Cassandra sent him indicated that she wasn’t so sure. “You don’t think so?”

“I…” The Seeker trailed off, looking to find the right words. “I trust you, Edric – completely. But I do not know her. I would never harm her, or try to force her to do our bidding, but I know she does not trust me.”

Edric chuckled. “She barely knows you,” he reminded her. “This is a lot of information for her to absorb. She went from being an apostate looking for her brother to the Herald of Andraste in a matter of days. Of course she’s wary. Give her some time to adjust. You’ll see.”

“I should try to get to know her better,” she said firmly. She nodded to herself, as if mentally confirming this idea.

“I agree.”

“When she wakes, I will go to her,” she continued. “Attempt to explain the situation.” She rose to her feet. “For now, I will go and speak with Leliana. Her friend was supposed to arrive today. I would very much like to meet her.”

“The diplomat?”

Cassandra nodded. “Lady Josephine Montilyet of Antiva,” she said. “Leliana says she is one of the best.”

“Then we need her. Desperately.”

“Will you come with me?” she asked. “You should meet her too.”

He considered for a moment. He had been planning on returning to Evelyn’s side in case she awoke; Solas had said that she could arise at any moment now. He wanted to be able to explain everything to her. But if Cassandra was planning to do that in order to get to know Evelyn, then it wasn’t necessary for him to be there.

Besides, Hawke was there.

He scowled, the thought of the apostate conjuring up a swell of hateful emotions in him. Protectiveness, anger, fear… he had displayed ugly traits in his dealings with the Champion thus far, a fact he was not proud of. He needed to get those feelings under control before he saw the man again.

“I will go with you,” Edric said, rising to his feet as well.

“Is something the matter?” Cassandra asked. “You look… angry.”

“Do I?” he asked. He relaxed his muscles then, surprised at how much tension he had been carrying. He shook his head, suppressing a snort of irritation at how quickly the thought of Hawke annoyed him.

Carefully schooling his face into a smile, he motioned for Cassandra to lead the way to Leliana.

“I’m fine. Let’s go meet this diplomat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a huge thank to bushviper for beta-ing this for me! Thank you, pal! <3
> 
> Thanks for reading! :) As always, I enjoy hearing what you guys have to say, so feel free to leave a comment!


	10. Embrium Petals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn awakens, and sets off for the Hinterlands to seal more rifts. Meanwhile, Edric goes to speak with Mother Giselle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my pal bushviper for beta-ing this! <3

For the second time that week, Evelyn found herself waking in a strange location.

This time, she believed herself to be in one of the cabins scattered around Haven. The scents of wood smoke, leather, and fur mingled pleasantly in the air around her, and the curtains were drawn tight over the windows to keep out the light. She shifted, mussing the nest of blankets she’d been buried in. Her body ached in protest, and she had to bite back a groan. How long had she been asleep?

She sat up slowly, the blankets pooling in her lap. A brief wave of dizziness hit her, and she clenched her eyes tight until it passed.

A rustling by her side drew her attention. To her surprise, Hawke was sitting on a stool beside her. He’d fallen asleep, his head cradled on his arms amidst the blankets. She reached a hand out to him, and then hesitated, suddenly unsure. Should she wake him up?

 _He_ _doesn’t_ _look_ _very_ _comfortable_ , she thought, eyeing how hunched his back was. _He_ _must_ _have_ _fallen_ _asleep_ _by_ _accident_. If that was the case, she should wake him – if he was still tired, he could go find a more comfortable place to sleep, and if he wasn’t, he likely wanted to speak with her. That’s why he was here, wasn’t it?

Her mind made up, she set her hand upon his shoulder, shaking him a few times to get his attention.

Hawke woke with a start, immediately grabbing her hand and pulling her close. She yelped at the sudden movement, and then froze when she saw how near their faces were. He blinked at her a few times, clearing the sleep from his mind.

“Evelyn,” he murmured.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she blurted out, saying the first thing that came to her mind.

“Hm?” He looked down, just noticing how tightly he was gripping the hand that had awoken him. He released her and sat back. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He ran a hand through his hair, adjusting the stray strands that sleep had mussed. It didn’t quite cooperate, some patches refusing to lay right.

She mentioned it to him, laughing when he scowled. He smacked his hands against his head, trying to force his hair into submission. This more vigorous effort seemed to work a little better.

“There,” he said. “Better?”

“Better,” she agreed.

“I need to find out what kind of product Cullen’s been using to tame his curls,” he muttered thoughtfully. “It seems to be rather effective.”

“Product?” Evelyn repeated. “The Commander uses hair products?”

“Well, unless his hair’s gone limpid with age, he’s definitely using _something_ ,” Hawke replied. “Varric didn’t nickname him Curly for nothing. But enough about Cullen.” He fixed Evelyn with an appraising eye. “How are you feeling? You’ve been asleep for three days.”

“ _Three_ _days?”_ she repeated. Had it really been so long? She didn’t feel as if she’d slept more than a night, her limbs still heavy with weariness. “What happened?”

“After we killed the demons and sealed the rift, you fainted,” he said. “Solas said that it was likely exhaustion.”

“How did I get here?” she asked. “Where am I?”

“You’ve been given a cabin. Thoughtful of them, isn’t it? Now that you’ve proved to them how utterly helpful you can be, they’re perfectly willing to give you your own lodgings!” He snorted. “As to how you got here, I carried you down the mountain.”

“You… carried me?” She flushed at the thought of Hawke carrying her in his arms, tucked close to his chest. It was… well. She wished she had been at least semi-conscious for it.

Hawke didn’t miss how her cheeks heated in response to his words. “Would you have rather I foisted you on Varric?” he asked. She looked over at him just in time to see him wink at her. It only served to intensify her blush. “You would have had to fight Bianca for position on his back. And between you and me, I’m not sure you would have won.”

“No, no,” she said quickly. “I… I don’t mind.”

“You’re very light.” He smirked at her. “It was like carrying an extra bag.”

She scowled. “A _bag_?” she repeated.

“Well, you are very small,” he replied. “How old are you, anyways? Perhaps you’ve not finished growing.”

“I’m twenty-four years!” she snapped. “I’m not a child!” Irritated, she threw the blankets off her form and made to get up. The clothes she had been wearing were gone, replaced by a plain white shift.

Hawke’s breath caught in his throat, and he quickly averted her eyes. Despite her embarrassment at being caught in nothing but a shift, his reaction took Evelyn by surprise. Was he blushing? Now it seemed to be _his_ turn to be flustered.

“I believe someone left you some new clothes over there,” he said, pointing to the corner. His voice was strangely rough.

There was indeed a fresh change of clothing laid atop a small table. A pair of boots stood on the floor nearby, and her staff was leaning against the wall. She stood up, fighting off another wave of dizziness, and walked over to them; Hawke pointedly looked the other direction. “Don’t look,” she warned.

She pulled the shift over her head and quickly donned her new garments. She struggled with even that simple task; her head was spinning again, and her limbs felt weak and boneless. She stumbled as she bent over to grab the boots, falling to the floor and smacking her knees.

Instantly, Hawke began to turn around. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine!” Evelyn retorted. Quickly, she pulled the boots onto her feet, fingers fumbling over the laces as she struggled to pull them tight. Once she’d finished, she drew her knees in tight against her chest, setting her chin upon her knee. She felt so weak; the mere act of changing her clothing had nearly exhausted her.

As she tried to regain some strength, she stared at Hawke’s back. He was obediently not looking at her, staring instead into the fire. He had changed out of his armor, opting instead for a simple shirt and breeches. His staff was laid down beside the chair he sat in, just within reach were he to need it.

What was he doing here? She was grateful that he’d carried her down from the Temple, and she had to admit, it pleased her that she hadn’t been alone when she’d woken, but surely Edric had thought to be here himself. Why was Hawke here instead of her brother?

“Hawke,” she called out softly. Instantly, he whirled around, eyes finding hers in the dim light.

“Yes?”

“Were you waiting for me to wake up?”

He hesitated. “Truthfully?” he asked, then nodded. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeated, frowning.

“Why were you waiting for me, and not my brother? Or Solas? Or-”

“Because I wanted to,” he said simply, cutting her off. She blinked in surprise. “I was worried when you didn’t wake after the first day, so I stayed to make sure you were alright. Your brother was going to do so himself, but he has responsibilities. I don’t. So I volunteered.”

“And he _let_ you?” Somehow, Evelyn couldn’t quite believe that.

“I can be very persuasive when I need to be.”

“I… well, thank you. For helping me down the mountain, and staying with me.”

He stood, walking over to her. “Of course,” he said, holding out a hand to help her up. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet, steadying her with one large hand when she wobbled. Evelyn had never felt so disoriented in her life, her vision teetering with every step that she took. It frustrated her to no end that her body wasn’t cooperating with her. It had had three days to heal - enough was enough!

She didn’t want to pull away from him, but she did so anyway. “I should go and find my brother,” she murmured. “He’ll want to see me.”

“I’ll walk you to him.” Hawke bent to retrieve his staff, strapping it to his back before walking over to the door.

“You don’t have to,” Evelyn said quickly, intuitively sensing that Hawke and Edric weren’t keen on seeing each other.

“I insist,” he said, much to her frustration. He winked at her. “If I don’t, you might fall down again, and then who would help you up?”

“I’m not going to fall!” She stalked past him angrily. In her irritation, she pushed against the door too hard, and lost her balance when it swung open faster than she’d intended. She yelped as she began to careen towards the snow, but of course Hawke was there in an instant, throwing an arm around her waist and pulling her back up. She moaned weakly and leaned against him as the ground spun mercilessly before her eyes.

“You were saying?” he murmured, his breath tickling her ear.

“Oh, shut up!”

*

“Evelyn, may I introduce Lady Josephine Montilyet of Antiva? She is to be the Inquisition’s ambassador.”

The woman smiled at Evelyn, her warm brown eyes friendly. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” she said, her voice lilting.

“And you,” Evelyn replied.

“You remember Commander Cullen Rutherford and Sister Leliana from before,” Edric continued, going around the table and introducing all of his fellows. Evelyn nodded, giving the both of them a rather hesitant smile. They had been quite stressed when she had first met them, but they seemed less wary now that the Breach had been stabilized, both quick to return her smile.

“It is good to see you on your feet again,” Leliana said lightly. “It seems Solas was right about how exhausted you were.”

“How are you feeling?” Cullen asked, hand absently gripping the hilt of his sword.

“I’m… alright,” Evelyn replied truthfully. “I still feel a bit weak.” That was an understatement. Though she had slept for three whole days, her body still felt as though it had been thoroughly pummeled. She could easily sleep another few days, were she given the opportunity. But there were things to do.

She looked down at her hand then, still pulsing with the green light of the mark. Only she could seal the rifts that had popped up all over Ferelden. There was no time to waste lying about in bed. She could sleep once the tears in the Veil had been mended.

The Commander was watching her with a knowing eye when she looked back up. _He knows_ , she thought. _He can tell that it’s taking a greater toll on me than I want to admit_. But he said nothing to her and, instead turning to Edric. “What is our next move, Trevelyan?”

Edric leaned forward, his great hands spanning the map laid upon the table. “We have several options,” he remarked. He pointed to an area in Ferelden near Lake Calenhad. “We haven’t been able to get the Chantry to speak with us. However, Leliana tells me that a Chantry mother in the Hinterlands has agreed to a meeting. She is interested in hearing our side of the story.”

“Her name is Giselle,” Leliana interjected, calmly placing her hands behind her back. “She is a political moderate, neither traditional nor progressive.”

“Yet she was not at the Conclave,” Cullen remarked.

“No,” the redhead said, shaking her head. “She was not. But that may be for the better. Though she was not highly ranked, Giselle was well liked and respected by many of the clerics. Now that so many have died… she will be a voice of reason in the days to come. People will listen to her.”

Edric turned to Evelyn. “I plan to go and speak with her,” he said. “She is currently helping the refugees who have been caught in the crossfire of the Mage-Templar War. I was hoping that you would accompany me.”

“Me?” Evelyn asked.

“There are several rifts in the area,” he continued. “While I go and speak with Mother Giselle, I’d like you to find and seal them.” He nodded to Cassandra. “Seeker Pentaghast will go with you, as will Solas, Varric, and Hawke.”

“A small special operations group,” Cullen said, nodding to Evelyn. “You will able to travel quickly where my soldiers cannot.”

“Exactly,” Edric said, nodding. “This is a task only you can do.”

Evelyn nodded. “When do we leave?” she asked.

Edric turned to Cassandra, shooting her a rather smug grin. The Seeker’s lips tightened; was she mad, upset? Evelyn wondered what had passed between the two of them, unspoken.

“Tomorrow morning,” he replied. “We will leave with the dawn. It will take us several days to reach the Hinterlands. From there, our parties will split; I will go to the Crossroads with a group of Inquisition soldiers and speak with Mother Giselle. I would also like to establish an Inquisition presence in the area; we can better help the refugees that way.”

“The Crossroads would be a good location for a camp,” Cullen observed. “I know the area; there’s a clearing just to the north of the settlement that would be a perfect setting.”

“I will inform Scout Harding,” Leliana said, nodding.

“How many rifts are there?” Evelyn asked.

“My scouts are uncertain,” the spymaster said. “So far, we have reports of seven rifts scattered around the settlements. But there are more remote regions that they have not yet explored.”

“You may also run into rogue mages and Templars,” Edric advised. “You must be careful.” He paused, following the course of a river with his eyes. “Once we have spoken with Mother Giselle and set up an Inquisition camp in the Crossroads, we will head here.” He tapped the map alongside the river. “A retired horsemaster from Redcliffe has agreed to provided us with horses.”

“If we satisfy his demands,” Leliana said amusedly, her lips quirking up in a smile.

“Demands?” Josephine asked, surprised. “What demands does this farmer have?”

“Don’t worry, Josie,” the spymaster mused. “Master Dennett is not the sort to benefit from diplomacy. He will want Edric to clear his fields of bears, or something of the like.”

“I see,” the ambassador said, making a note on the writing board she carried in her hands. “Acquiring horses will be a good start, I think.” She looked up at Edric. “I have already received word from the surrounding nobility about securing our trade routes throughout the Frostbacks. I can give you a more thorough explanation later, if you would like.”

Edric nodded. “Yes, I would be glad to hear it,” he replied. He looked over to Evelyn. “I am glad you are willing to help us,” he added softly, smiling at her. “You have given us hope.”

“Of course I will.” Evelyn was slightly offended at the insinuation that she would do otherwise. He should know her better than that.

“It’s not that we thought that you wouldn’t,” Cullen said quickly, looking from Edric to Evelyn. “But it is a heavy burden to take on. We were… divided on how you would react.” This time, his gaze turned to Cassandra. Again, the Seeker’s lips pursed, and she pointedly looked away from them.

Though she’d known that the other woman didn’t trust her, Evelyn still found herself hurt that Cassandra thought she’d leave. How could she think so little of her? What had she done to warrant this mistrust, this complete lack of faith of her desire to help? The entire world was threatened because of the tears in the Veil; what kind of person would abandon their cause in the face of that sort of danger?

She had to breathe through her nose to forestall the anger that she felt welling up in her.

“You should see Threnn, the quartermaster, for any supplies that you will need for the journey,” Leliana said, her voice light. “Her workstation is just beside mine. I can take you to her now - unless you have other instructions for Evelyn?” The redhead looked to Edric, who shook his head.

Leliana then motioned for Evelyn to follow her as she walked around the table. Together, they left the meeting room at the back of the Chantry. She shortened her stride to match Evelyn’s, though she was several inches taller.

“Do not let her trouble you,” she said suddenly.

Evelyn looked up at the spymaster sharply. “Who?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

Leliana chuckled. “You know of whom I speak,” she said.

“She hates me,” Evelyn muttered, shielding her eyes from the glare of the snow as they stepped outside. She continued to follow Leliana to a large tent just across the path; it was filled with various boxes and tables, raven cages set upon every free space. They cackled at the two of them as they entered the tent, gazing at Evelyn with their beady little eyes.

“She does not hate you,” the redhead disagreed. She turned to face Evelyn. “She does not know what to make of you. Justinia was more than just the Divine to her; she was the mother Cassandra never had. Her mentor. When the Temple exploded at the Conclave… she was devastated. And then she found you, a survivor – how do you think that made her feel? Why did you survive when the Divine did not?”

“I don’t know what happened,” Evelyn interjected.

“I know that.”

“And I don’t know how I survived!” Hadn’t she said as much a hundred times? Would they never believe her when she said that she hadn’t the faintest idea what had happened? She was so tired of repeating herself.

“And yet you were there when that thing killed the Divine,” Leliana mused. “Or so the vision at the Temple would have us believe.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Evelyn said darkly.

“Nothing,” Leliana replied. “I do not want you to say anything. And neither does Cassandra. She knows as well as I do that you have no memory of what happened. Nor does she blame you for what happened. At the moment, we have no reason to be suspicious of you.”

“Have you told her that?”

“Give her time,” the redhead smiled, waving forward a newly arrived messenger. “She will come around.”

Evelyn had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

“Threnn is over there,” Leliana continued, pointing out the quartermaster. “She will have supplies.” She turned to the messenger then, taking the report from his hands and scanning it with keen eyes. It was clearly a dismissal.

Evelyn turned and walked from the tent, still uncertain of how to feel about Cassandra. Leliana’s words had been meant to reassure her, but she wasn’t convinced. She had no idea how to make the Seeker trust her, or if that was even possible.

_Give her time. She will come around._

The spymaster’s words rang through her thoughts again as she left the tent and headed across the way. Leliana was probably right; as impatient as she was, these sorts of things took time. She wasn’t going to get Cassandra to trust her in a day, or even a week.

She would just have to prove herself.

*

“So what’s your story?”

Evelyn looked down at Varric. “My story?” she asked.

“Yeah, you know – where you’re from, what your family’s like, hobbies, childhood injuries, hopes, dreams,” he replied. “Your _story_.”

On her other side, Hawke snorted. “Don’t tell him too much,” he warned. “He’ll write you into a book behind your back, embellishing you every second paragraph. And then when people who’ve read _your_ story meet you, you completely underwhelm them. It leaves you with a rather unsatisfactory feeling in the pit of your stomach.”

Varric sighed. “See, that’s why I have to embellish,” he remarked. “If I just repeated everything you said, you’d be a really annoying character.”

“I try.”

“So, Evelyn – your story.”

Their exchange had Evelyn smiling despite the fatigue in her muscles. They’d been traveling for almost a week now, nearing the Hinterlands every day. Cassandra and Edric had set a relentless pace, rising with the sun but not stopping with its setting. Evelyn found her feet blistered and aching every night, and her leg muscles felt like rocks. But she refused to complain; if the rest of them could keep this pace, then so could she.

“You were born in Ostwick,” Varric continued.

“Not the city itself,” she commented, “though we live in the city’s territory.”

“Did your village have a name?”

“Maybe in some ancient history book,” she said, “but none that we ever used.”

“Hmm… and your father was a vintner?”

She shook her head. “He’s a farmer,” she explained. “But we did primarily grow grapes and other fruits to sell to the vintners in Ostwick.”

“The climate must have been perfect for grapes,” the dwarf commented. “Warm, but not too warm, lots of hills, good soil.” He nodded and looked over to her. “I hear he wasn’t always a farmer.”

 _And where would he have heard that?_ Evelyn turned to Hawke, an accusatory grin on her face, only to find him pointedly looking the other direction. “Talking about me behind my back?” she asked.

“Who, me?” he asked. He shook his head. “I would never do such a thing. Perish the thought.”

“Liar,” she teased.

He shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

Varric chuckled at their exchange. “Ok, kids, enough flirting,” he said. Evelyn snapped her mouth shut at that. “Your father was the son of the Bann of Ostwick, but he gave up the title to marry your mother.”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“Why? She not good enough, something like that?”

“Something like that.” She paused, thinking of the right way to frame the situation. “My mother… she was always unsure of where her family came from, what they did. When she was very young, her family’s ship ran into the rocks off the coast of Dairsmuid; everyone was killed except for her. The Rivaini took her in and raised her.”

“Interesting.”

“When she was older, my mother left Rivain to try and find her family,” Evelyn continued. “She didn’t have much to go on – no more than her family name, really. She sailed to Wycome first, and then traveled southward to Hercinia and Markham.”

“Did she find them?”

Again, Evelyn shook her head. “No one had heard of them,” she said softly. “Mother told me once that she was devastated; she so wanted to find them, hoping that some of her relatives were still living.”

“So what did she do next?”

“She decided to return to Rivain,” she replied. “At least there, she had friends.”

“Let me guess – on the way back, she met your father,” Varric interjected, shooting her a knowing smile. “And he swept her off her feet.”

She returned the smile. “Exactly.”

His smile faded with his next words. “But your grandfather, this Bann Trevelyan, didn’t approve of his heir marrying a wanderer.”

“That’s an understatement,” she said darkly.

“His loss,” Varric said firmly. “Judging from how he raised you and Tree, I’d say your father’s a good man.” He clapped his hands together then, and changed the subject. “So tell me about this other sibling of yours – Ewan, was it?”

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about their families. Evelyn spared no details, answering any questions that the two of them asked her. She told them of Mother and Father, Ewan and Edric, and what her life as a wealthy farmer’s daughter had entailed.

In return, Hawke told her of how he’d come to Kirkwall with his siblings and his mother, fleeing the ravages of the Fifth Blight. He told her of how they’d managed to scrape together a living until they’d restored their family to its former greatness, and how he’d gotten roped into dealing with the Qunari threat.

And then Varric had regaled her with stories of his life in Kirkwall, the son of the famed Tethras house of merchants. He’d lived all kinds of adventures, he said, and not just because he was friends with Hawke.

Of course, then Hawke had gotten involved in the conversation, adding that Varric had _at no point in time_ been forced into traveling with him, and that the dwarf had even suggested _Hawke_ accompany _him_. It was amusing to watch the two of them banter. Evelyn’s laughter flowed freely that afternoon, and that night, she slept easier than she had since they’d left Haven. She awoke the next morning feeling refreshed, ready to travel again.

They reached the Hinterlands by midday. It was a land of rocky hills and green grass, foxes and mountain rams dotting the landscape. They picked their way carefully amongst the trees, the small rocks littering the ground just waiting to twist an ankle. The air was warmer here too; Evelyn had had to remove her cloak days ago, carefully packing it away.

Edric drew their party to a stop about a mile away from the Crossroads. “This is where we’ll part ways,” he said to Evelyn. His eyes darted around the area as he spoke, always on the lookout for danger. He had always credited that particular habit to his training as a Templar, but she wasn’t so sure. Edric was simply careful by nature.

He pointed down a nearby hill. “The Crossroads is that way,” he continued. “We’ll move carefully in case we run into trouble. Here.” He handed Evelyn a roll of papers, loosely tied together with string. “These are Leliana’s reports on nearby rifts. You’ll find information on their whereabouts, as well as the demons each seems to be spawning. Apparently, different rifts attract different kinds of evil.”

She nodded, accepting the papers and tucking them into her belt. “How long will you stay at the Crossroads?” she asked.

“A day or so,” he replied. “I can spare no more time than that. We’ll head to the Redcliffe farms tomorrow in search of this Master Dennett. As we see them, we shall help refugees as well.”

“I will too,” she said.

“We should rendezvous at the forward camp in a week,” Cassandra interjected, stepping forward. “We can make further plans once we have discovered what we are up against.”

Edric nodded. “Agreed,” he said. “The situation may be worse than we’ve heard.” He returned his gaze to Evelyn, and set a hand upon her shoulder. “Be careful, sister. Maker watch over you.”

Evelyn smiled up at him. “I’ll try,” she replied. Impulsively, she stepped forward and hugged him. His plate armor was cold and hard against her ribs, but she didn’t care, squeezing him tight. He chuckled and leaned down to return the hug.

“Do more than try,” he whispered in her ear.

She drew back, grinning up at him. “Alright,” she murmured.

Edric turned to his men then, motioning for them to follow him as he headed down the hill. Evelyn watched him leave with a bit of trepidation. He could protect himself; she knew that well. But this was a very volatile area, and the tensions were high. She hoped that nothing happened to him.

She turned to face the four standing behind her. They were all watching her, she noticed suddenly. It was as if they were waiting for her to give the orders. Was she in charge? She looked at Cassandra; the woman was staring at her expectantly, brows drawn down. It made her appear very focused, very intense.

 _Do something_ , she reminded herself. _Don’t just stand there_.

Evelyn reached into her belt, drawing forth the papers Edric had handed her. She undid the string, fingers trembling slightly, and smoothed them out. The first page was a map, small four-pointed stars marking the locations of the rifts in the area. She kept that for herself and handed the rest of the pages to Cassandra, who looked over them cursorily before giving them to Solas.

“Where is the closest rift?” she asked, walking over to Evelyn.

Evelyn studied the map, looking up every now and then to try and get her bearings. “I think it’s… here,” she said, stabbing one of the stars. It was near an icon of a castle labeled “Calenhad’s Foothold”.

“Yes,” Cassandra agreed. She looked up from the map and pointed to the west. Evelyn followed the trajectory of her finger, her eyes settling upon a tall hill. At its crest, just visible over the tree line, was a crumbling ruin. “We should go there first. From that vantage point, we may be able to see other rifts.”

Evelyn smiled at the approval. “Let’s go,” she said eagerly, returning the map to her belt.

Solas fell into step beside her as they began their trek. “Might I keep these for the moment?” he asked, brandishing Leliana’s reports. “I would like to read them in more depth later.”

“Of course,” she replied. “You might take something away from the reports that I can’t.”

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said. He took the pack off his back and stowed the papers inside, being careful so as not to bend them. “I will save these for later.” He fell back then, letting her walk ahead.

It was rather unsettling to be expected to lead. Evelyn had never been the leader at anything; she was the middle child, and her father’s only daughter. She’d not been given the same responsibilities as her brothers had. Nothing had ever rested upon her shoulders. Not like this.

They spent the better part of an hour heading towards the rift. The climb was steep, Evelyn’s thighs aching in protest. Several times, Hawke had to take the lead, helping the rest of them up with his strong arms.

Well, all of them except Cassandra. She alone remained undaunted by the mountain.

Evelyn heard the rift before she saw it; the crackling in the air gave it away. Solas ran forward, quickly waving them on. “Here it is!” he cried, taking his staff in his hands.

Cassandra drew her sword from its sheath and ran forward, slashing out at the wraiths that had poured from the rift at Solas’ shout. Varric scrambled up a nearby pile of rocks, getting into a better position from which to fire his crossbow.

Evelyn removed her staff from her back, running forward to stand by Solas. Hawke didn’t join them, instead leaping into the fray beside Cassandra. Again, Evelyn was amazed at his prowess; though he was no warrior, he moved as fluidly as a soldier with a lifetime of training. He and the Seeker worked together well, corralling the demons between their weapons for Solas and Evelyn to then blast with magic.

The first round was a short fight. While the rift stuttered, preparing to launch more demons at them, Evelyn took the opportunity to wipe the sweat from her brow. Beside her, Solas was doing the same, rejuvenating the magical barriers he’d placed around their party as he did so.

The next time, shades poured forth from the rift, scattering as soon as they entered the world of the living. Cassandra made quick work of the two that came at her, as did Hawke. Varric laughed at the shade that tried to attack him, easily skewering it with a bolt before it could make it within striking distance.

Evelyn channeled fire along her staff, lashing out at the two shades that had come for her. Solas strengthened the barrier around her just as the first shade reached her. It took the brunt of the hit, the shimmering green magic flashing as the demon’s claws slashed at her. The shield kept her from getting lacerated, but the impact still knocked her back a step.

Scowling at the creature, she let loose a fireball, hitting it square in its faceless head. It shrieked once before dissipating - a horrible, unnatural sound. She took no time to relish her victory, immediately turning to the second shade; it was trying to flank her, the sneaky bastard. She whirled around, spinning her staff with her, and blasted the demon backwards with a burst of force. It staggered, and Solas managed to trap it in a vortex of ice shards, ripping it to shreds where it stood.

Behind her, the rift crackled and popped. Evelyn turned, relieved to see the tear into the Fade had stabilized enough for her to seal it. She raised her palm, the familiar burning sensation of magic being pulled from the mark making her grit her teeth. Just as she felt she could longer bear it, she pulled, hard, and the rift imploded.

“Good work,” Solas murmured, coming to stand beside her.

She nodded. “One down,” she replied.

“Many more yet to come.” He smiled and stepped forward, inspecting the ruins now that the rift had been closed. “This place is old – very old. The Veil is thin here.” He walked off a bit, running careful fingers along the crumbling stones.

“This was Calenhad’s Foothold,” Cassandra explained. She was crouched down, wiping the blood and grime from her blade on the rags left behind by one of the shades. “He was the first of the Theirin kings.” She stood then, sheathing her weapon.

“The uniter of the Alamarri tribes,” Solas murmured. He turned to the rest of them. “We should explore the ruins a bit. We may find something interesting.”

“You may be right, Chuckles,” Varric commented, walking over to the elf. “Nice place to hide goods. Lots of nooks and crannies.” Cassandra rolled her eyes at that, pushing past the two of them to enter the ruins herself.

“You are a smuggler, Master Tethras?”

“I’m a _businessman_ ,” Varric insisted. “Though if you’re looking for a smuggler, I know a guy.” Their voices faded as they walked away, leaving Evelyn alone as she caught her breath. She had no interest in ruins – or rather, she had no interest in ruins where the Veil was thin. Her mother had warned her of specters lurking in the old places of the world. The tales had given her nightmares as a child, and even adulthood hadn’t quite assuaged her fears.

“Not going exploring?”

She turned, facing Hawke. “I’d rather not,” she said lightly, stepping away from the old fortress.

He followed her as she walked through the trees. “Not a fan of old, crumbling things?” he asked.

“More like I’m not a fan of haunted places,” she replied. They had reached the edge of the mountain, the trees giving way to small bushes and plants. Her breath caught at the view of the valley below, verdant and fair.

“Lovely, isn’t it,” Hawke murmured.

“How was it so cold along the coast and so beautiful here?” she asked.

“The Stormlands are always cold and wet,” he explained, “Just as the land around the Frostbacks is always cold and rocky. The Hinterlands, on the other hand, have always had a milder climate.”

“You know Ferelden well.”

“I lived here, for a time,” he said.

She turned to look at him. “Here?” she asked, indicating the valley with a tilt of her head.

“Not far from here,” he replied. “A little ways to the north. A village called Lothering; we stayed there a few years, but it was destroyed in the Blight. Before that, we traveled around Ferelden, living a few months here, a few months there. My father was an apostate, you see. We had to stay moving so that he wouldn’t be caught.”

“Then why did you stay so long in Lothering?” she asked.

Hawke paused, not meeting her eyes. Evelyn wondered if she’d said something wrong, anxiously twisting her hands around her staff as she waited for him to reply.

“He died,” he said bluntly. “Just a few months after we’d settled in. Mother was devastated. It was for the best that we didn’t move anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Part of her wanted to reach out to him, lay a comforting hand on his arm, but she wasn’t sure it she should, if such a gesture would be welcomed. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

He shrugged, giving her a small smile. “It’s alright,” he said lightly. “It was a long time ago.” He looked away again, studying the land before them. “This place is beautiful though. It reminds me of home.” He snorted. “Well, before the Blight that is. I doubt our farm even exists anymore.”

“You should go and look for it,” she suggested without thinking. “Perhaps something remains there.”

He looked back to her. “Maybe, one day,” he agreed. “If the world’s ever not in need of saving.”

He bent down, plucking a vibrant orange flower from its stalk. He studied it as he rose, twirling it in his fingers. “Embrium. You can use it to make poultices and certain healing droughts.”

“It’s pretty,” she murmured, staring down at the unfamiliar plant. Embrium didn’t grow in the Free Marches, not so close to the sea. Spindleweed was more common, as well as elfroot.

But that wasn’t saying much. Elfroot would grow anywhere.

“It is,” he agreed. He reached out then, tucking the flower in her hair so that its petals grazed the top of her ear. She froze at his touch, not daring to move as he wove the stem into her hair so it wouldn’t move. Was it just her, or were his fingertips lingering against her temple, against her neck? She shivered slightly, her core tightening with… with _want_.

Yes, that was what it was. She had been uncertain at first, dismissing her body’s reactions to Hawke as a natural response to an attractive man. But she wasn’t so sure that she could call it mere attraction anymore. Not when his slightest touch had her biting her lip in restraint.

He stepped back, much to her disappointment. Her face was burning, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.

“And now _you’re_ pretty,” he murmured.

She raised an eyebrow. “Only now?” she demanded.

“It certainly doesn’t hurt,” he grinned. She scowled at him, punching him in the arm with her tiny fist before she could stop herself. He laughed, completely unaffected. “I’m only teasing!”

“You had better be,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. She turned to head back to Calenhad’s Foothold; he caught her arm, preventing her from going any further. Pursing her lips in frustration, she looked up at him. “Yes?” she snapped.

“Are you angry with me?” he asked.

“No, I’m not angry.” She jutted her chin out a little bit, daring him to contradict her. “I just don’t like being teased.”

“I’m sorry. Should I not do it again?”

“Is that a serious question?”

“I find you very pretty,” he deadpanned, the humor gone from his eyes, replaced with something else entirely. “You _are_ very pretty.”

“I…”

He shuffled a little closer to her; she had to tilt her head back to see him now. “Does this make you uncomfortable?” he murmured.

“Yes,” she said instantly. A disappointed look crossed his face; he made to turn away, and this time she caught his arm. He raised an eyebrow in question. “And no.” She shifted around on her feet, uncertain of what to say next. “I don’t know. It’s a good uncomfortable feeling.”

He smiled tentatively at her. “A good uncomfortable feeling,” he repeated. “I like that.”

“Eh-hem.”

Evelyn’s eyes jerked away from Hawke at the sound. Her cheeks flooded with heat at being caught… caught what? Talking? She returned Varric’s grin with a defensive frown.

“Stepped away for a clandestine tryst in the woods?” he called. “How romantic, Hawke.”

“You say that like it’s a surprise,” Hawke retorted.

The dwarf chuckled. “It is, a bit,” he admitted. “In all the time we’ve spent together, I’ve never seen you try to woo anyone.”

“Wooing?” The mage lifted an eyebrow. “We’re in a forest, Varric. With bears.”

“I admit it doesn’t speak well for your technique,” Varric replied. He nodded his head back toward the ruins. “You’d best hurry up. The Seeker’s ready to leave.” He turned around and sauntered off, looking quite pleased with himself.

Hawke turned back to Evelyn then. “Have I mentioned Varric has terrible timing?”

“I heard that!”

Evelyn snorted, unable to keep the grin off her face. “We should head back,” she said, much as she didn’t want to. “I don’t like Cassandra when she’s angry.”

“Good point,” he replied, chuckling. He motioned her forward. “After you.”

She smiled at him as she walked by.

He smiled back.

Cassandra, however, was not smiling when the two of them returned. Her eyes narrowed, flicking between Evelyn and Hawke suspiciously. “Did you find anything?” she asked.

“Wasn’t looking, honestly,” Hawke replied.

“We found some recent signs of a camp,” Solas offered. “The remains of a fire, and a tent. Perhaps refugees have been using the ruins as shelter. I hope they were not harmed by the demons.”

“Me neither,” Evelyn agreed. She pulled out her map and looked for the next rift. Cassandra walked over to study the paper as well.

“There,” the Seeker murmured, pointing to a star a few inches away from their current location. “Dwarfson’s Pass.”

“Dwarfson?” Varric interjected. “Should I be offended by that?”

“Are you offended by anything?” Cassandra shot back. Varric shrugged, letting the gibe roll off his back. “Come. We should keep moving.”

Moving cautiously down the escarpment, they set off for Dwarfson’s Pass. Cassandra led the way, talking quietly with Solas about the nature of the rifts. Varric seemed content to draw up the rear, keeping an eye on their flank. For her part, Evelyn remained silent, simply enjoying the picturesque landscape. Every so often, she’d sneak glimpses at Hawke. Half the time, he caught her looking; he’d smirk at her, or pretend to be embarrassed.

It made her inexplicably happy, as did the flower in her hair. She kept it there until they made camp, only taking it out as she prepared to retire for the night.

And even then, she set it beside her head, staring at the orange petals as she drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had good holidays! And Happy New Year (in a few days) :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter :) Now I can finally get into the actual Inquisition events - with some major canon divergence, of course.


	11. Closed Gates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn and her companions find the gates to Redcliffe shut, and Edric receives a summons from Val Royeaux.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to bushviper for beta-ing this :) She really is a rockstar!

Yet again that night, Evelyn asked herself why she’d agreed to take the first watch. She could barely keep her eyes open, fighting hard against the sleep that threatened to take her. The soreness of her muscles had faded away to a dull ache over the past few days, but still, her body begged her for more rest. There was nothing for it, though - the renegades and wildlife in the area necessitated a watch, and she would take her turn just like others.

Across the fire, Cassandra shifted. The movement drew Evelyn’s attention, and she blinked sleepily as the other woman set down her book, her place marked with a thin red ribbon.

The Seeker hadn’t said one word to her since the others had retired an hour ago. As soon as they’d agreed to take the first watch together, Cassandra had pulled the book from her bag and begun to read, looking up every so often to assess their surroundings. Evelyn hadn’t thought to bring anything to read with them to the Hinterlands; Haven had a small library, she’d discovered, and she had been eager to read as much as she could. But to bring a book here, into the wilderness? She hadn’t thought that would be allowed.

She shifted around, attempting to keep herself awake. There were still a few more hours before they would awaken Varric and Hawke. Surely she could find some way to entertain herself.

She eyed Cassandra. Perhaps she should try and speak with the other woman. It would be preferable to sitting in silence as the moons traveled above them. But what would they talk about? She considered for a moment, unable to come up with anything meaningful to say. Scowling, she shook her head at her own ineptitude.

_Just ask her about herself. That’s a neutral enough topic._

“Tell me about yourself.” The words came out in a rush, but she stayed firm, looking the other woman straight in the eye.

Cassandra looked surprised. “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, aren’t we?” Evelyn asked after a moment’s consideration. She shrugged. “I thought it might be a good idea to get to know you.”

The other woman hesitated, and then nodded. “I am sorry,” she said quietly. “I am not used to having people ask about me.” She straightened, settling her hands into her lap as if she were preparing for an interrogation. “What do you wish to know?”

Evelyn paused – what _did_ she want to know? She decided to start with a simple question.

“Well, where are you from?”

“I was born Cassandra Pentaghast of Nevarra,” the Seeker replied. “King Markus is a… distant relative.”

“You’re royalty?” Evelyn asked, eyebrows raised. She’d suspected that Cassandra was nobility since they’d first met – the Seeker’s features were fine and aristocratic, despite the scars on her face and the rough, soldier’s haircut. But _royalty_?

“I am seventy-eighth in line for the throne,” Cassandra said shortly. “To call me royalty would not be accurate.”

“But you’re still in line for the throne.”

“Half of the families in Orlais are in the line of succession for Celene’s throne, if you trace that line far enough,” the Seeker retorted. “That does not make them all royalty. Besides, I left that all behind me a long time ago. I have not been back to Nevarra since I was a child.”

“You left to become a Seeker,” Evelyn guessed.

The other woman nodded. “When I was twelve,” she explained. “I was older than most children are when they leave for training; normally, it would not have been allowed, but I was an exception. My family’s status allowed me the opportunity to join.”

“Why did you join them?”

To her surprise, a faint smile graced Cassandra’s lips. “It will probably not startle you to hear that I had no love for the trappings of nobility,” she replied. “I thought the other girls my age to be vapid and foolish, arguing over dresses and etiquette and who they would eventually marry. The Pentaghasts have long been heralded as dragon slayers, not purveyors of tea parties.” She rolled her eyes, as if the thought of tea and crumpets was abhorrent.

But then again, to Cassandra, it probably was.

“I pestered my uncle to let me join the order for years,” she continued. “He was reluctant, when he listened to me at all. But after what happened to Anthony…” She trailed off abruptly. “I no longer thought it necessary to wait for his permission.”

“Who’s Anthony?”

“He was my brother,” the Seeker said firmly. “And that is all I will say of him.”

 _Was, not is._ Evelyn wondered what had happened to him; it was clearly a sore spot for the Seeker, a wound that hadn’t quite healed. Not wanting to intrude, she retreated, obeying the other woman’s wishes to speak no more of it.

“So, what exactly is a Seeker of Truth? What separates you from the Templar Order?”

“There are several things,” Cassandra replied. “For one, we answer directly to the Divine. For another, we do not take lyrium. Nor can we be possessed by demons. But Templars serve in Circles, a bulwark against magic gone rampant. Theoretically, they also serve to protect mages from injustices, but we have all seen evidence of corruption in their ranks. That is what happened at Kirkwall. The Seekers exist to examine such corruption, to keep the Templars committed to their duties.”

Evelyn frowned. “If that’s true, then why did the mages rebel?” she asked.

“Clearly, we failed,” the Seeker said stiffly. “Had we been doing our duty, this war would not have happened. Lord Seeker Lambert acted in fear, misjudging the situation with the mages in Val Royeaux. He pushed too hard, too aggressively, after the assassination attempt on the Divine. When the mages rebelled, he then removed the Seekers and Templars from the control of the Chantry to give them more power in hunting down the mages who fled the Circle. He forgot his place. I had hoped that when he disappeared, the new Lord Seeker would be less militant, but Lucius has proved a worthy successor of Lambert’s policies.”

“How did he get to be chosen as the new leader?”

“I do not know,” Cassandra replied; her expression was like a thunderhead, dark and brooding. “I have been the Right Hand of the Divine for many years now. I was not present when Lucius was chosen.” She shook her head, as if to clear the recalcitrant thoughts from her mind. “But it is too late to worry about that regret. I must move forward.”

A silence fell over their campsite then, the only sounds the gentle crackling of the fire and murmuring of the forest around them. Evelyn wondered if she should continue the conversation. Had she been too forward, pressed their tenuous relationship too much by asking all of those questions? Perhaps she should have started with more basic questions – like the Seeker’s favorite color, or what she did in her spare time.

She snorted at the thought.

“What’s so funny?”

Cassandra’s question made her look up. The other woman had a curious expression on her face, wondering at her amusement.

“It’s nothing,” Evelyn replied. “I was just thinking that perhaps I should’ve started with a simpler question.”

“What would a simpler question be?”

“Well, what’s your favorite color?”

“Red,” Cassandra said instantly, not missing a beat.

Evelyn raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really?” she asked.

“It is the color of passion, and strength,” the Seeker continued. “Red demands your attention; it does not allow you to look away. And…” She hesitated a moment, as if debating whether or not to continue. When she did speak again, her voice was much softer. “I think the color flatters me.”

Evelyn said nothing for a moment, unsure of what to say. She agreed with Cassandra; red would accentuate the olive undertones in the woman’s skin, her dark hair a stark contrast to the color’s brightness. She simply hadn’t been expecting the other woman to have an explanation thought out.

“I think it would suit you, too,” she said finally. “Dark red especially – burgundy or claret.”

“You do?”

“I think it would be very flattering.”

“I… thank you.” Cassandra paused, studying her for a moment. “And what is your favorite color, Herald?”

 _Herald? She won’t even use my name?_ Evelyn forced herself not to dwell on that insouciant thought for the moment. At least she was having a pleasant conversation with the Seeker, and not one involving suspicious glances or snappish questions.

“Yellow,” she said finally.

The Seeker leaned forward intently. “What sort of yellow?” she asked.

“There were these flowers that grew in the fields around my family’s farm,” Evelyn explained. “They were small and delicate, blooming only in the early morning. The heat of the day made the blooms curl up, so I only saw them occasionally. But they were the most beautiful color I think I’ve ever seen.”

“You would not prefer embrium flowers?” Cassandra asked pointedly.

Evelyn blushed, thinking of the flower she’d placed in the bottom of her satchel. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to throw it away, though its beauty had long since faded. “Embrium is nice,” she said finally, “But orange is only pretty in small doses, I think.”

To her surprise, the other woman snorted. “On that, I think we may agree,” she offered. She paused for a moment, studying Evelyn with guarded eyes. She opened her mouth as if to speak, and then snapped it shut, thinking better of it.

“What is it?” Evelyn prompted.

“Nothing,” the Seeker barked, looking away.

“You were going to say something,” Evelyn retorted. “What was it?”

“I am sorry.” The words left Cassandra’s mouth in a rush, and she looked startled at the admission, as if she hadn’t meant to speak. But then she nodded and pressed forward, seemingly intent on getting her thoughts into the open. “I am sorry for misjudging you, in the beginning.”

“I-”

Cassandra raised a hand for silence, and Evelyn stopped. “It was not right of me, no matter how justified I believed my actions to be,” the Seeker continued. “Your brother vouched for you, and was certain of your determination to aid us. And these past few days, you have acted admirably in the face of the danger the rifts present. I was wrong to judge you so quickly.”

“Maybe,” Evelyn allowed. The other woman met her gaze for the first time since she had apologized. “But I would probably have done the same thing in your situation.”

Cassandra snorted. “Would you have? I doubt it.”

“If you don’t believe me, ask Edric,” she persisted. “I was always the one getting into trouble when we were younger because I acted without thinking. I’m the rash, impulsive one in the family.”

A slow smile spread across the Seeker’s face. “My brother said the same of me, once,” she admitted.

Evelyn smiled in return, and the tension between them eased a bit. It wasn’t gone entirely; Cassandra still kept an eye on her throughout the rest of their watch, her gaze not entirely trusting, and Evelyn wasn’t so quick to forget the other woman’s earlier prejudice towards her. But neither was it so thick that it hung in the air around them like an oily miasma, making them snappish.

It was a start. And that was enough.

*

“I like Evelyn.”

Hawke glanced down at Varric. “Is that so?” he queried.

“Yeah,” the dwarf replied. “She’s plucky.”

“Plucky?”

“Stubborn, determined, and pretty damned brave for someone so tiny,” Varric explained.

“I know what plucky means, Varric,” Hawke said, shaking his head. “I was just surprised that you used it to describe Evelyn.”

“And what word would you have chosen, then?”

He shrugged, unable to come up with the appropriate adjectives spur of the moment.

Varric chuckled. “You just leave the descriptions to me,” he said. Hawke scowled at the patronizing tone, but said nothing in response. It wasn’t very smart to bait Varric – the dwarf wasn’t the most intelligent person Hawke knew, but he was certainly one of the cleverest.

“What, no witty retort?” his friend prompted when he remained silent. “I feel strangely bereft.”

“My condolences,” Hawke sighed. “So then – does your approval of Evelyn mean you’ve thought up a nickname for her?”

“I’m toying with a few at the moment,” Varric replied. “Nothing’s set in stone yet.”

“You aren’t going to start calling her Harp, are you?”

“Harp?” Varric shot him a strange look.

“Because she’s _plucky_ ,” Hawke said flatly.

The dwarf sighed. “Stop while you’re ahead, Hawke,” he said. “Really. Leave it to me.”

The both of them fell silent as Cassandra motioned for them all to stop, her brows drawn down into a scowl. Before them stood the entryway to Redcliffe, the road they had been following continuing on underneath the lowered portcullis. A guard stood nearby, his arms crossed over his barrel chest. “The way is closed,” he said firmly, jerking her chin in the direction they’d come. “Best be on your way.”

“Well, well, well,” Varric muttered, looking around the area furtively. “What do we have here?”

“We are with the Inquisition.” Cassandra stepped forward, her face proud, voice ringing with authority. Hawke had to give it to her – she may have been a pain in the ass, but she knew how to make an entrance. The Seeker motioned to Evelyn, standing warily at her side. “This is the Herald of Andraste – she has the power to seal the rifts into the Fade that have sprouted throughout Thedas!”

“Bugger for her,” the guard snapped. “But we ain’t got no rifts.”

Evelyn took a step forward, frowning. “But we’ve had reports of a –”

“I said, we ain’t got no rifts,” the guard repeated. “Arl’s closed the city gates too. That’ll keep unsavory sorts out, and none of them refugees can get through to bother the village folk.”

“You think demons will be stopped by a _gate_?” Hawke snorted. The guard’s attention shifted to him, watery eyes conveying an instant dislike.

“Demons? What’re you on about?”

“Surely you have noticed the Breach in the sky,” Solas said calmly.

“Sure I did,” the guard replied. “I’m not blind.”

“The magic that tore open the hole into the Fade caused other rifts to form throughout Thedas,” the elf continued. “These rifts are pathways that spirits can use to travel from the Fade to our world. When they cross over, many become demons. They then attack all who wander nearby.”

The man spat on the ground. “Ain’t got none of that here,” he persisted. “Not since the Arl shut the gates.”

“You’ve not seen any demons?” Solas asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nary a one.”

“This isn’t good,” Varric murmured.

“How can that be?” Evelyn demanded, brandishing a piece of paper. “I have a report right here that says there are rifts near Redcliffe! Surely you’ve seen something, even if there aren’t any demons!”

The guard shrugged. “Not that I know of,” he replied.

“Will you at least let us in so that we can check?”

“Sorry, can’t.”

“Whose orders are you following?” Cassandra demanded. Her hand had strayed perilously close to her sword, Hawke noticed. He sidled closer to her, just in case she did something rash. .

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Ugh!” The sheer disgust in the Seeker’s voice would have been comical, were Hawke not as agitated as she was. She turned on her heel, stomping away from the gates at the guard’s refusal to admit them into the city. Evelyn gave one last withering look at the guard before following Cassandra.

The man sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t get paid enough to deal with this,” he muttered, turning and heading back to the guardhouse.  

Hawked snorted at that. None of them did.

In fact, he was rather certain that he wasn’t getting paid at all.

He and Varric jogged to rejoin the others; Cassandra was muttering under her breath, throwing dark looks over shoulder. Evelyn and Solas were calmer, though both appeared equally perplexed by the turn of events.

“What do we do now?” Evelyn asked. “And why would they have closed the gates?”

“Something strange is at work here,” Solas agreed. “There is most certainly a rift there – I could feel the distortions in the Fade as we neared the gate.”

“You did?” Evelyn asked in surprise. “I felt nothing.”

Solas smiled at her. “I have had a lot of experience with the Fade,” he remarked. “I am likely more sensitive to it than you are.”

Hawke didn’t like the slight condescension in the elf’s words, but he couldn’t deny their truth. He hadn’t felt the rift’s presence either. “If there’s something there, and it’s been hidden from us, I want to know why,” he said.

“Agreed,” Solas said, his icy blue eyes flicking over to Hawke. “What could have happened to make the Arl bar the gate? They were not closed when I last passed through this land.”

“We must get to Edric,” Cassandra interjected. The rest of them turned to look at her; the anger was gone from her features, replaced with a calm sense of resignation. “Perhaps he has established enough of a presence at the Crossroads to demand the attention of the Arl.” She turned, striding away from them as if her words booked no argument. “Come. The Crossroads is not far.”

“I thought we were meeting him at the forward camp in a few days,” Evelyn protested, falling into step beside the Seeker. “He won’t be expecting us until then.”

“No,” Cassandra agreed. “He will not. That is why we will have to find him.”

*

The sickening crunch of bone disgusted Edric – it was a haunting, melancholy noise that always made him cringe, no matter how many times he heard it. Grimacing, he jerked his mace free from the rogue Templar he’d felled, attempting to ignore the shards of bone and metal that the weapon pulled free.

He looked up, surveying the area as his soldiers milled about him. Mother Giselle had warned him of the fighting in the valley just beyond the Crossroads, and the refugees had spoken of it fearfully, but seeing it was something else entirely. As soon as they had emerged from the tunnel beneath the mountain, rogue Templars and apostates had swarmed them. His men had almost been overwhelmed, but he had called them to order, rallying them against the threat.

Now, the valley was clear of enemies, and they had a moment to breathe. _Thank the Maker._

A soldier approached him, a nasty gash on his left cheek. “The valley is secure, ser,” he said, holding a fist up to his heart. “The remaining mages have fled into the woods, and the Templar base camp is located farther up the river.”

Edric nodded and secured his mace at his hip. “Good,” he said. He motioned to what was left of the houses in the area; they were burning, set ablaze by the fire spells of the apostates. “Can we do something about these fires?”

“On it, ser!”

He took a few steps forward, wiping the sweat from his brow. His hand came back smeared with grime and blood; thankfully, it wasn’t his own.

The respite was to be short. They would have to chase down both the Templars and the apostates eventually; the refugees weren’t safe while the renegades were still out there. He sighed; which group should he target first? He and several of his men were Templars themselves – that gave them a distinct advantage against the mages hidden in the Witchwood. The rogue Templars, on the other hand, had barricaded themselves into the hills, complete with woodworks. They would be more difficult to take on.

 _The mages will be the easier foe,_ he concluded. _If we can take them out quickly, it gives us time to rest and recover before the next attack on the Templars._

Having made up his mind, he turned to gather the attention of his second-in-command. They would need to get a move on before the mages were able to construct defensive works of their own.

“Edric!”

He drew up sharply at the cry of his name. “Cassandra?” His eyes darted around the area, searching for her. _What is she doing here?_ Fear gripped him them, leaving him cold despite the warmth of the day. What had happened? She wouldn’t have sought him out so early unless something had come up.

A deep sigh of relief left his lungs when he saw the entirety of their party emerge from the tunnel that led to the Crossroads. They were all alive – and seemingly unharmed.

Cassandra reached him first, her sharp eyes taking in the state of the area immediately. “Apostates?” she guessed.

“And rogue Templars,” he replied, nodding. “We came upon them fighting each other, as soon as we emerged from the Crossroads. I attempted to call out to them and get them to stop, but they wouldn’t listen. They began to attack us as well.” He shook his head regretfully. “We were forced to kill them all.”

Her brown eyes grew dark with distaste. “They would not even stop to listen,” she muttered under her breath. She huffed derisively before continuing. “Did any flee?”

“Into the Witchwood.” He pointed to the tangled snarl of forest behind them. “Our reports indicated that that is where they have set up their base of operations. The Templars, on the other hand, are located farther into the valley along the river. My plan is to attack the mages first, and then the Templars tomorrow.” He eyed her, attempting to gauge how fatigued she was. “I could use a few more men, if you are able to assist.”

“Of course we will help,” she said firmly.

“Good.”

The rest of the group caught up with the two of them then. Evelyn flung herself at Edric as soon as she was within arm’s reach. He chuckled at her antics. “Do you really want to hug me right now?” he asked. “I’m filthy!”

She pulled back, grinning up at him. “I’ll wash in the river later,” she replied easily. “How have you been?” She looked him over, checking for injuries.

Her thoughtfulness made him smile. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m not injured. And you?”

“We’ve sealed most of the rifts in Leliana’s reports, and we found several more,” she reported. “We marked them on the map; a couple of them were too strong for us to seal.” She hung her head, embarrassed.

“Evelyn,” he said gently, setting a hand on her shoulder. She peered up at him through her long eyelashes. “It’s alright. You are new at this, and some demons are terribly strong. We can return to the area later with more men.”

“I know that!” she snapped, flushing scarlet. Ah. He had misjudged her before. She hadn’t been embarrassed - she was merely frustrated by an inability to act. “I just hate not being able to do something. I’m the _only_ one who can help. When I can’t manage it…” She broke off, shrugging. “I don’t like it.”

Edric nodded. “I know,” he said quietly. He changed the subject then, sensing that further talk on the matter would only irritate his sister more. “The rebel mages have retreated into the forest, and we have them on the run. We should combine our strength to take them out. With both of our groups, it should be fairly easy.”

Evelyn nodded. “We can help,” she said. He smiled, resisting the urge to reach out and ruffle her hair as he had when they were children. It made him proud to note that her voice didn’t waver once.

“Give me but a moment,” he said, turning to give further instructions to his men. Half of them were to stay behind and continue to work on extinguishing the fires under the watchful eye of his second. The rest, including Evelyn and her group, were with him.  

Cassandra fell in step beside him as they set off into the Witchwood. It was eerily quiet amongst the trees, the sounds of crackling fires and the rushing river silenced. Strange totems hung in the air above them, the wind whistling through the holes in their circular frames.

He pulled away from the others, motioning for Cassandra to join him. She raised an eyebrow, but followed him just the same.

“What is it?” she questioned, keeping her voice low.

“You came back early,” he said, equally quiet. “Has something happened?”

She nodded, ducking around a bush for cover. She poked her dark head around the corner, checking for enemies. Satisfied that the way was clear, she said, “It is Redcliffe. The town was shut to us, and they claim they are not taking refugees.”

“What?” he asked sharply.

“I know,” she said. “It worried me as well.”

“This is… unusual,” he replied. “We’ll have to talk to Josephine. Perhaps she has heard some stirrings among the nobility.”

“That would require us to return to Haven.” Cassandra sidestepped a huge patch of ice on the ground; it was steaming unnaturally in the heat, not melting despite the warmth of the sun. “Surely there is more we must do here?”

“About that.” She turned to face him expectantly. “I received a dispatch from Leliana yesterday. We have been summoned to Val Royeaux.”

“ _Summoned_?” Cassandra spat the word out like it disgusted her. “For what?”

“You know what they want,” Edric said darkly. “They don’t want the Divine’s death to go unpunished. We’re an easy target; they’ve already labeled us heretics.” He paused, bending down to inspect a corpse frozen in more ice. The victim was long dead, the flesh gone necrotic where the ice had touched him. He stood with a grimace. “I must go to them.”

Quick as an arrow, Cassandra’s hand shot out to grab his arm. “You cannot!” she insisted. His surprise must have shown on his face, for next she flushed and looked away. “They will imprison you, or put you on trial! Think, Edric!”

“I have no plans on getting imprisoned, Cassandra,” he murmured. “And I have thought this out. We need to be seen in public. People need to see the face of the Inquisition, realize that we mean to help the world, not to harm it. What better place to do that than Val Royeaux?”

“I –” She snapped her mouth shut and withdrew her arm as the others approached the area. “Let me go with you.”

He shook his head. “As much as I would like to have you at my back, I need you to stay with Evelyn,” he said.

“She can protect herself!” Cassandra retorted. “She is smart, and her intuition is good. And she would not be alone if I left.”

A part of him was pleased that Cassandra was beginning to view his sister in a more favorable light, but it was subsumed by the larger part of him that was troubled at Cassandra’s vehement opposition to his plan. He didn’t understand her reaction. “Evelyn needs you,” he insisted. “She’s not a leader, Cassandra.”

She snorted. “Have you seen her?” she asked. “She is stronger than I think even you give her credit.”

He frowned. It wasn’t that he doubted her – he knew Evelyn was a fierce, strong individual. But she was still young, and she’d never been faced with these sorts of trials. He wanted to protect her as much as he could. Perhaps it was just his duty as her older brother, and perhaps it was selfish of him to think such. He couldn’t help it.

But Evelyn was not the issue here.

“I must go, Cassandra,” he said. “The Inquisition needs this publicity.”

“Publicity?” she repeated. “The _Inquisition_ cannot afford to lose you, Edric! You will be walking into a nest of vipers if you go to Orlais!”

“I’m flattered you think my presence is necessary,” he replied, giving her a wry grin in an attempt to ease the tension. “But I _must_ go, Cassandra. We won’t get another opportunity like this.”

“Must you?” she shot back. His smile faded as she stalked away. Surely she could see that it was vital that the Inquisition be seen in Val Royeaux. The Chantry had finally acknowledged their presence – even if it was only to condemn them. They had to react quickly, or they would lose the momentum they had been working so hard to achieve over the past few weeks. Someone had to go and speak with them, despite the risks that entailed. Leliana could not, Cullen would not, and Josephine was already far too busy securing them alliances and trading agreements with other nations.

That left him. Wasn’t it obvious?

Varric stepped up beside him, burly arms crossed over his chest. “Lover’s quarrel?” he asked.

Edric looked down at him coolly. “Professional disagreement,” he countered.

The dwarf shrugged. “If you say so, Tree.” He paused. “Might I ask something?”

“You just did.” Edric stepped forward, heading back down the winding path that led to the apostate stronghold.

“Might I ask you something _else_?” Edric sighed, and nodded. “How did you meet the Seeker?”

“Why?” he asked.

Varric shrugged. “Call me curious.”

“She came to Kirkwall to recruit Templars to the Inquisition,” Edric explained, wary of not revealing too many details. “I thought her ideals to be worthwhile, so I left with her.”

“So you wanted to do something for the greater good?”

“I… guess you could put it that way.”

“It wasn’t because of Cassandra?”

Edric looked down at the other man sharply. “What did you just say?”

“I’m just saying,” Varric said quickly, holding up his hands. “You and the Seeker seem pretty close! I was wondering if perhaps there was something –”

“No.”

“Nothing?” He looked disappointed.

“The Seeker and I are friends, and we work well together,” Edric said firmly. “And that is all.”

“Then how do you explain why she was so upset back there?”

Edric had no answer for that, and so he didn’t give one. Varric chuckled at his silence and fell back a few steps. “Think it over, Tree. See if you come up with anything.”

He rolled his eyes at the insinuation. It was ridiculous – he and Cassandra had become fast friends through their shared ideals and faith. He had never once thought to push their relationship into deeper territory. And neither had she. Now was not the time to be thinking of such things - more pressing matters were at hand. There was nothing for him to think over.

And yet…

He found that he couldn’t quite get Varric’s words out of his mind.

*

_He was terrified, pupils dilated wide in fear. He reached out a hand to her in supplication, begging her to stop. “No, wait!” he cried. His voice was shrill, grating upon her ears. “Don’t!”_

_The tears were streaming down her face as she brought her staff down, plunging the blade at the end into his heart. She turned away at the horrid sound of metal rending flesh, and felt as if she were going to be sick. Her staff dropped from clammy fingers as she jerked back, not able to stand looking at him any more._

_But the area around her was no better. Bodies littered the ground, and blood painted every surface. Men and women alike had fallen in the battle, their broken bodies sprawled in unnatural poses on the dirt floor of the cave._

_A lone embrium blossom lay before her, its petals crushed by a heavy steel boot and painted red with blood._

_She groaned, her eyes slipping shut to block out the image. Had it had to be this way? They had only been defending themselves._

_Yes, she told herself, they brought it upon themselves by killing refugees. They had killed men and women, and_ children _in their reckless flight from the Circles. These were not the rebels who had protested the injustices and proclaimed the Circles destroyed; these were the apostates who had sought to watch the world that had hurt them burn. In turn, they had become no better than those they had condemned._

_She reeled to the side, her stomach rebelling at the grisly scene. She managed to make it to the side of the cavern before she was sick, setting her away from the worried eyes of her companions. The cool air made the sweat bead on her skin, but that was not the only reason she was cold. There would never be any warmth for her here._

Again and again, the memory played in Evelyn’s mind. For hours now, it had been a constant reminder of the events with the apostates. She had tried to go to sleep once they had returned to the camp stationed at the Crossroads. But she had tossed and turned, unable to get any rest. Eventually, she’d thrown her blankets aside, taken a torch, and walked off to be alone. There were several narrow paths leading up out of the valley; she’d found a small alcove in one, and had sat down to think, thrusting the torch into the ground for light.

Had it been necessary?

Had they really had to kill the apostates in the Witchwood?

She had seen what their fighting with the Templars had done to the Hinterlands. The Crossroads was crawling with refugees, their faces gaunt and their clothing threadbare from weeks on the run, and the countryside was torn apart from the constant skirmishes. Too many people had been caught up in this war with no say in the matter whatsoever. The apostates hadn’t been concerned with the collateral damage they had inflicted, and that was why they had been killed.

 _But they were people,_ a nagging voice in her mind reminded her. _They were people, and they were frightened – you saw it in their eyes. They were scared, and you killed them. Your brother killed them. Hawke killed them._

She shuddered, trying to drown the voice out. Yes, she had killed them. And tomorrow, they would likely have to kill Templars. She didn’t like it, but it was a truth that she needed to face.

Why was it so hard?

Hot tears threatened to spill from her eyes, and she blinked furiously to contain them. It was foolish to cry over people that she knew nothing about, people who had been willing to kill her to save themselves. She knew it was foolish – she just couldn’t stop wishing that there had been another option, something else that they could have done.

But what other option had there been? Edric had attempted to reason with them, calling out for a peaceful talk before they had started to fight. His conversation had been met with angry spells, and he had been forced to defend himself. From what Evelyn had heard, those who lived in the Hinterlands had also tried to reason with the warring parties, offering them food and money to leave these lands. Both the apostates and the Templars had spurned the offers, solely intent on destroying the other faction in their hate.

It seemed bloodshed was the only answer.

She lifted a hand to wipe away the stubborn tears that refused to stay put. “Stop crying,” she told herself, willing her voice to be firm. Instead, it wavered. “This is the second time you’ve gotten sick after fighting. You can’t do this anymore!”

“You never stop crying.”

Evelyn jerked her hand away from her face, magic flaring at this possible threat. She relaxed when Edric walked into her field of vision, her hand falling limply beside her. He looked tired, the circles under his eyes indicating his own lack of sleep. He sat down in front of her, regarding her with a solemn expression.

“But eventually, the tears will stop falling,” he finished.

She stared at him for a moment, not daring to breathe. He gazed back at her, something akin to understanding in his brown eyes.

She fell into his arms, burying her head against his shoulder as the tears began to flow down her face anew. He didn’t hesitate even a moment to envelope her in a fierce hug, one of his hands coming up to cradle the back of her head. A sob caught in her throat even as she tried to suppress it, resulting in a strange, choking noise.

“It’s alright,” he murmured. “Just cry.”

“I don’t want to,” she protested thickly.

“No one ever does.”

Edric held her until her tears finally ceased. He didn’t speak, though one of his hands moved in soothing circles across her back. It was comforting, his presence more than enough. Talking about the mages would only make her feel worse.

Finally, her tears dried up, leaving exhaustion in their place. She pulled back, running a hand through her now damp hair. Edric was watching her cautiously. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“For what?”

She waved a hand indelicately. “For… well…” He continued to stare at her, waiting patiently for an answer. “For getting your shirt wet.”

He chuckled. “I think my shirt will manage, Ev,” he replied. His good-natured words put a small smile on her lips.

“Hey,” he said softly, and Evelyn looked up. “If it ever gets to be too much, let it out. I know you won’t want to, that it’ll feel like you’re a burden, but it’s for the best. I will always be here to listen. And others will too. Already, Varric likes you. Solas too.” He took a deep breath then. “Even Hawke seems to… enjoy your company.”

She chose to ignore the strange undercurrent to that last sentence and took his words at their face value. “Were things ever too much for you?”

He snorted. “It’s why I left Kirkwall,” he admitted. “There was only so much blind fear and hatred that I could take. But I found friends, those who held similar ideals - Cullen, Cassandra… others you haven’t met yet. They helped to drive back the darkness when I felt unable to push on - just as your friends will aid you. ” He pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand. “Coming back to camp?”

She nodded, and together they headed back to their tents. She felt drained, but the crying had been a cathartic experience; no longer did a crushing sensation of guilt threaten to overwhelm her. She had a feeling that it would return tomorrow after they had confronted the Templars. Her brother was right - demons were spiteful, distorted reflections of happy things; they were easy to destroy. Humans would never be easy to kill.

But for now, she was at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> Again, a bit of a filler chapter as we move on to more plot points, but we're getting closer to big stuff! A bit of a heads up - I am going to be super busy over the next few weeks with work, and while I will definitely be continuing to write, updates may be a little less frequent. I'll still try to stick to a once a week schedule, but I can't make any promises!
> 
> Feel free to tell me what you think! :)


	12. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edric finds Hawke and Evelyn in a compromising situation, and a Grey Warden is recruited to the Inquisition's ranks.

“Hiding, are we?”

Evelyn looked over to find Hawke staring up at her, bemused. “I’m not hiding,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes flicked back to camp; she could still hear Cassandra and her brother arguing over the Chantry summons, their words heated. Both of them were heavily invested in the debate, convinced of their own rightness. Neither was doing very much listening at this point, incensed beyond rational understanding. Varric’s witty interjections weren’t helping.

“I’m… keeping my sanity,” she concluded. Personally, she agreed with Cassandra. It was too dangerous for Edric to just walk into Val Royeaux and _talk_ with the Chantry. They’d made it blatantly obvious that they didn’t want to converse, and now all of a sudden, they were summoning the Inquisition? It was highly suspicious. But all Edric could see was the opportunity in the motion, not the potential risks.

She’d had to get away. As soon as she’d finished her evening meal, she’d slipped away from camp, seemingly unnoticed. There was a beautiful waterfall across the way, pooling onto a small, swampy ledge before cascading down to the valley below. She’d settled onto one of the rocks at the water’s edge, taking a few blood lotus blossoms with her and absently braiding their stems together as she’d attempted to drown out the noise.

“Can I join you, fellow sane person?” Hawke asked.

“Only if you don’t say a word about Val Royeaux,” she allowed, reaching out a hand to help him up.

“Not one,” he agreed. He took her hand, using it clamber up the side of the rock before settling in beside her. Noticing her handiwork, he said, “Blood lotus. Merrill loved those; she’d always put them in her hair when we managed to find them.”

“Merrill… the Dalish elf?” Evelyn guessed, attempting to recall what Hawke had told her of his companions.

Hawke nodded. “She’d put them in her hair, and then Isabela would braid it, even though her hair wasn’t very long,” he said.

“You sound like you miss them.”

“I do,” he said lightly, turning to face her. “But the company here isn’t too bad either.”

She smiled, happy to think that he enjoyed her company. A particularly loud grunt of disgust caught her attention then, and she grimaced. “As long as the company isn’t yelling at each other,” she said pointedly, flicking her eyes back over to camp. It appeared the fighting had finally ceased, the lamp within Cassandra’s tent indicating that the Seeker had retired for the night.

“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” Hawke said. “Carver yells at everything, and I’ve always found it quite entertaining.”

She snorted. “Your brother sounds… interesting.”

He chuckled. “That’s one way to put it.” He stretched out, lying back along the stone to find a more comfortable position. “Another would be to say that he’s an ass. Because he is.” He sighed. “But what can I do? He’s my ass.” He frowned. “That sounded better in my head.”

Evelyn laughed. “I knew what you meant,” she said. She picked up one of the lotus stem braids; it was beginning to wilt, the budding stalks limp in her hand. With a rueful expression, she threw it into the water below, watching the current swirl it away.

“I miss him, too,” Hawke continued. “But for different reasons.”

“How so?”

“He’s all I have left,” he murmured. When Evelyn turned back to look at him in question, there was a strange, absent look in his eyes, his mind somewhere far away from their conversation. She waited patiently for him to return to her.

“I… suppose I never did tell you much about my family,” he said ruefully, noticing her inquisitive expression. “I’m sorry. I don’t particularly enjoy talking about them.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said quickly, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

He shook his head. “No, you should know,” he replied. “I know about your people. You should know of mine.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Carver and I are all that remains of the Hawke family. All that I know of, at least. We may have a distant relation lurking around somewhere.

“I told you of Father’s sudden death in Lothering. It hit us all hard. In our grief, we ignored the signs of the Blight, delayed leaving Ferelden. When it finally hit Lothering, we were completely unprepared. We’d had warning, of course - a darkspawn horde isn’t exactly hard to spot, so there had been news. And Carver had run off to join King Cailan’s army; when he returned, he brought news of the battle at Ostagar back to us. Still… we had dallied, and there was no time to lose; we ran, hard.

“It was me, my mother, and the twins,” he continued. “We took nothing; there wasn’t time.” He broke off with another shake of his head. “Mother was having trouble keeping up, and the darkspawn were close on our heels. A few times, we had to fight them off. That’s when we met Aveline, and her husband, Wesley. He’d been badly wounded by the darkspawn himself; we stuck together for strength in numbers.”

“Wesley?” Evelyn frowned. “I thought you said she was married to a man named Donnic.”

“She is,” Hawke said quickly. “Wesley died upon the road. The darkspawn taint was too much for him to overcome. There was no escaping them; we were quickly surrounded. I was careless, fighting too many of the damn creatures at once. One of them knocked my staff from my hands, and as I went to retrieve it…” He swallowed thickly, the memories obviously painful for him. There was a sadness in his face, one that didn’t look like it belonged. She found that she wanted to erase it, and make him smile again.  “The ogre came. I hadn’t time to defend myself. It was going to kill me, I _knew_ it was, and then…

“And then, somehow, it wasn’t. It caught fire where it stood, howling in rage as its skin burned from Bethany’s spells. She saved my life, at the cost of her own.” He stopped, taking a few moments to gather his shaking voice. “It was my fault. It always has been. If I hadn’t been so careless, or if I’d just moved faster…”

He sighed, pulling at his hair, frustrated at thoughts that he couldn’t put into words. “It was my fault,” he repeated. “And I’ve never forgotten it. Carver and Mother never forgot it either.”

“What do you mean?” Evelyn asked. She shifted closer to him, lying down upon her stomach so she could look straight into Hawke’s face. Perhaps the physical closeness would set him more at ease, the way such proximity was comforting to her.

“Oh, they’ve never said anything to me about it,” he said quickly, guessing at the dark implication in her words. “Neither would ever blame me for what happened to Bethany; at least, not aloud. Not to my face. But every time Mother looked at me, she saw her daughter. And every time Carver looks at me, he sees his sister. I look like her, you see; people always thought we were the twins, instead of her and Carver.

“They never quite got over her death. I don’t think I ever did either. You don’t just… move on from something like that. It always haunts you. Mother was never quite the same after that.”

“It must have been hard for all of you,” Evelyn agreed.

“There wasn’t a day that passed where Mother didn’t think of Bethany,” he continued. “I could tell. Her eyes would get this far away look sometimes, this pained expression… I knew what it meant. No parent should have to bury their child.”

She reached out and took his hand, unable to bear the grief in his voice any longer. She hated to see him thus, though she was happy he felt comfortable enough with her to reveal his past. It was a strange dichotomy for her, and she was unsure of what to say. A part of her hoped that she could convey her feelings through the simple touch of her hand upon his.

The look he shot her was grateful, giving her hope that he’d realized her intent. He squeezed her fingers gently before continuing. “Mother died a few years later. I… won’t say more of it. It’s still too much for me to take. What he did to her…” He broke off, his sorrow turning to anger. “I wasn’t even there - I didn’t even get the chance to defend her when that monster took her. By the time I found her…” He broke off, shaking his head in disgust. “She died in my arms, afterwards. Told me she was proud of me.”

“I’m sorry,” Evelyn whispered, horrified at a scene she could only imagine.

“I just wish that I’d...” he murmured, “...I don’t know. Been able to save her, been able to do _something_.” He was silent for a moment, his words hanging poignantly in the air. When he spoke again, he had regained control of his emotions, his voice soft and neutral. “As terrible as her death was though, and as hard as it was for Carver and me, I like to think that she’s with Bethany and Father now. And that’s not such a bad thought.” 

“No,” she agreed, “No, it’s not.”

Hearing Hawke talk of his parents made her wonder what had become of hers. Were they alright? Edric had told her that they’d made it to Ostwick and been taken in by the Templars. But what had become of them? Were they still in the city, or had they managed to leave and begin rebuilding? Uncertainty brought her sense of unease back. She would have to see if she could get some information on them. Perhaps Leliana could help her.

“You would have liked Bethany.”

Drawn from her thoughts, Evelyn looked up at him. “Why do you say that?”

“Because everyone did,” was his simple reply. “She was like the sun – warm, friendly, kind…” He sighed. “Poor Mother was left with Carver and me instead.”

“But you’re friendly and kind, too,” Evelyn pointed out.

He grinned at her words. She took it as a sign that his mood was improving a bit. “I don’t even hold a candle to Bethany,” he replied. He snorted again. “And Carver certainly doesn’t.”

“What’s so bad about him?” she asked.

Hawke paused. “I’ve given you the impression that Carver’s a mean little miscreant,” he said flatly. “That was wrong of me. Carver is… well… let’s just say he’s gotten better as time’s gone by. He’s aged well. Like a fine wine, or a good cheese!”

“Cheese? You’re comparing your brother to cheese?”

“Alright, let’s go with the wine analogy, then. Regardless, he was very young when we fled to Kirkwall; he was only eighteen, and he’d just lost his twin sister. He was angry; he lashed out. He did stupid things. Everyone does stupid things when they’re eighteen and angry. I nearly burnt my bed to the ground once.”

She frowned. “What were you doing that your bed almost caught fire?”

“Ah… nothing.” He waved it off, a faint dusting of red appearing on his cheeks. “Being young and dumb.”

“What was it?” She was more insistent this time, poking his arm for emphasis.

“A youthful miscalculation.”

“You’re embarrassed,” she said, pointing to his face. “Why are you embarrassed?”

“Who, me?” he deflected. “Impossible. My shame died a long time ago.”

She rolled her eyes at that. “You’re dodging the question,” she accused.

“Varric tells me I’m good at that.”

Annoyed, she looked away from him and rolled onto her back. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, half-hoping that he managed to hear her. She let her eyes slip closed and breathed deeply to soothe her irritation, the fragrance of lotuses and embrium flowers filling the air.

When she opened her eyes again, a few deep breaths later, she found herself staring up at Hawke. He was peering down at her curiously. She started at his sudden closeness, though she couldn’t say she didn’t like it. He was so close… were she to move her hand but a little, she could touch his face. She could run her fingers through his hair. She could…

She could kiss him.

“Impossible?” he murmured. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I…” She swallowed to ease the sudden dryness in her throat, looking down to his lips. They were full, with a lovely double curve that was unique to him. How easy would it be to just press her lips against his? She found herself unable to look away, let alone answer his question.

“Yes?” he prompted.

Blood was thrumming in her veins, her heart hammering beneath her ribs. Could he hear it? He had to have; it was so loud, beating like a drum. He shifted, repositioning his arms to frame her torso; her breath caught in her throat when he grazed her side, amazed at how good that small, accidental touch felt.

“Now you’re blushing.”

She scowled. “You touched me.”

“And that makes you blush?” The idea seemed to please him, if the grin that spanned his lips was any indication.

“Yes,” she snapped. “It does.”

“I wonder… is it because-”

“Hawke!”

Evelyn had never seen a man move so quickly in her life. Hawke was off her in an instant, sliding down the rock in his haste and landing in the water with a splash. Sitting up, Evelyn was just in time to see Edric storm over to them, his face dark with anger.

“Trevelyan, hello, nice to see you!” Hawke said quickly, putting what he probably thought was a winning smile on his face. “Finished your chat with the Seeker?”

Edric jerked his head back in the direction of their campsite. “My tent. Now.”

“Well, that’s very forward of you, Ed-”

Edric leaned down to glare at the mage, shutting him up with a single look. “Now,” he repeated. He looked up to Evelyn, giving her a cursory once-over, before turning on his heel and stalking away.

Evelyn slipped down off the rock, her lotuses in hand. Hawke turned to look at her. “I think your brother is going to kill me,” he said.

“He did give off that impression,” she agreed.

He groaned. “You aren’t supposed to agree,” he informed her. “You’re supposed to say something comforting in these circumstances.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“‘You’ll be alright, Hawke, he’s just protective!’ or ‘He’s not going to hurt you; you’re too valuable to our team for that!’ Either would be nice,” he replied.

“But those would be lies,” she said sweetly, smirking up at him. “I really think he might hurt you, and I don’t know if you’d be alright.”

His face fell, and he clutched a heart to his chest. “I’m hurt that you think I can’t take on your brother,” he said mournfully.

She reached out to pat him on the arm, only realizing halfway through the motion that she’d reached for his bare, unarmored skin. She forced her hand not to linger against the smooth, warm flesh, despite how much she wanted to keep it there. “You’ll survive,” she said cheerfully. She shot him a cheeky grin. “I think.”

He sighed melodramatically, his posture drooping.

“I’m doomed.”

*

“What are you intentions regarding my sister?”

Hawke blinked. “My intentions?” he asked. Repeating the question was a feint – he needed time to think up a possible answer that wouldn’t get him killed or gelded. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious.

Edric scowled at him, seeing through his ruse immediately. “Don’t play dumb,” he snapped. “You know what I mean.”

“Right, of course,” Hawke muttered. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and grappling at which course of action to take. The truth seemed the best in this situation, but how did he express his feelings for Evelyn to Edric without angering him? How was he supposed to divulge that he _wanted_ Evelyn - both at his side and in his bed - to her brother? Her very large, formidable brother who could, quite literally, smite him where he sat?

“I… like your sister.” 

He cringed even as he said the words. _Well that was woefully inadequate,_ he berated himself mentally. _And not even half the truth._

“Like?” Edric snorted. “I like my sister, Hawke. Varric likes my sister. You don’t _like_ my sister.”

“I very much do like her,” Hawke disagreed. “I just think we’re speaking of different kinds of liking.”

Edric’s eyes narrowed. “I hardly think this is appropriate,” he snapped. “We’re in the middle of a war.”

Hawke snorted. “When is the world ever not at war?” he asked. “Someone’s always fighting over something.”

Edric didn’t reply, so Hawke pushed on. “I’m not trying to take advantage of her,” he said quietly. “I’m not… trying to do anything. I would never hurt Evelyn.” The image of Evelyn discovering the ruins of her family’s house back in the Free Marches came to his mind, unbidden; even then, the sadness that had been written upon her face had been almost too much for him to bear. He didn’t think he could stand to see her like that again, especially now that he had come to care for her so much.

It was improbable, that she’d come to mean so much to him in such a short amount of time. They’d only known each other for a few months now, though they’d spent nearly all of that together. At first, he’d merely thought of her a companion, a well-liked traveling partner. But her quick wit and inner strength had impressed him, drawn him in. What had started off as companionship had quickly grown into something far deeper, something he wasn’t quite daring enough to label yet.

Not to mention she was pretty. Oh, Maker, but she was utterly, enchantingly lovely. And the looks she sometimes gave him, the way her cheeks flushed with what he hoped was delight...

He would’ve smiled at the thought, had Edric not been staring him down from across the table.

“How can you _not_ hurt her?” Edric demanded. “You’re an apostate, wanted for the explosion of the Chantry in Kirkwall. I know you didn’t commit the act, but that will never stop people from wanting to blame you. You’ve been on the run for months. Have you told Evelyn that? Have you told her that you can never stay in one place for too long? How long will it be until you leave the Inquisition? A month? Two?”

Hawke burned with anger at the words, and yet he was unable to deny them. How could he, when Edric spoke the truth? “That’s unfair of you to say,” he replied. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’ll stay until the mess that I helped to create is over.”

“And then?”

“And then I’ll do whatever I damn well choose to do!” he snapped.

Edric considered him for a long while, brow furrowed in thought. “You’ll hurt her,” he reiterated, unmoved.

“I won’t,” Hawke insisted. “That’s the last thing that I want to do.” He had to grip the arms of his chair to keep his magic in check, his palms burning with suppressed ire. It wasn’t even that Edric was being so protective; to be honest, Hawke expected that sort of behavior. No, the idea of Edric being brotherly towards Evelyn was good, admirable even.

It was the fact that his barbs were so well placed, so _accurate_ that angered Hawke. He _was_ an apostate, always on the run. He _was_ wanted for his involvement in the mage rebellion.

“I know that you love Evelyn,” he said cautiously, eyeing Edric warily as he spoke in order to gauge the Templar’s reactions. “And I know that you want to protect her. But I’m not someone you need to protect her from.”

Edric’s eyes flashed. “Are you sure of that?” he demanded. “Because I am not.”

“What do you think is going to happen?” Hawke snapped.

“I don’t know,” Edric replied. “But you seem like the type of person who would disappear at a moment’s notice if you thought it would protect her.”

“So do you,” Hawke retorted.

Edric sighed, sitting back in his chair. He reached up to massage his temples, his expression terribly conflicted. “I’m not trying to be accusatory,” he muttered. “Perhaps I should have waited until I was in a better mood to have this conversation. You forced my hand.” He shot Hawke a pointed look.

“I wasn’t – we weren’t –” Hawke broke off with a huff. “That wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Mmmm.”

It was a noncommittal noise, the sound one made when they didn’t believe you. Hawke knew it well; he’d gotten it a lot in his first days in Kirkwall, back when he’d had to scrape together a living by convincing people that he could do their dirty work for him. He’d managed to convince them of his quality, though; Edric was proving to be a much tougher critic.

“I know what you’re doing,” Hawke said bluntly, abandoning his irritation and switching tactics.

Edric raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I’m an older brother too,” he continued. “At one point, I had a younger sister. I know what it’s like to want to protect your siblings.”

“Then you see my reservations.”

“I – yes. I do.” He paused, considering his next words very carefully. “But I like your sister, Edric – I want to know her better. She’s driven, and kind, and she keeps me on my toes. I never know what she’s going to say next. I… I haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time.”

“She’s so young.”

“She’s old enough to make these sorts of decisions for herself,” Hawke countered.

“That’s not what I meant,” Edric said, shaking his head. “Maker… how do I say this?” He paused, pursing his lips in frustration. “We... my parents, Ewan, and I, that is, attempted to… shield Evelyn from other people in our village. We decided it was for the best that so we could prevent others from learning of her magic. That meant keeping her wary of forming relationships with the other children in the village.” He fixed Hawke with a meaningful gaze then, as if he were trying to clue the other in on a key bit of information. “She has very little experience, Hawke.”

“Oh.” _She’s a virgin._ He cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. Not only that, but she’d likely never even been courted before, perhaps not even kissed. Romance was an entirely different experience for mages, whose emotions were often linked to their magic. _Of course he’s concerned, then. He thinks I’m going to take advantage of her._ The idea saddened him, but he couldn’t fault Edric for that line of thinking.

How often had he thought the same exact thing about the men who’d flirted with Bethany? How often had their dubious charms provoked his brotherly wrath?

“You can see why I’m concerned, then,” Edric concluded.

“That does clear a few things up.”

“I… would never tell Evelyn what she may or may not do. It’s not my place,” the Templar continued. He snorted then, shaking his head. “Even if I tried, she wouldn’t hear me. Evelyn listens to her heart; she always has.” He paused, looking up to meet Hawke’s wary eyes. “If she chooses you, I won’t stand in the way. That wasn’t why I wanted to talk to you.”

Hawke frowned. “Wait… are you giving me your _blessing_?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair eagerly.

“That’s not what this is,” was the emphatic reply. Hawke sat back in disappointment. “This is me informing you that she is my sister, and I will protect her with my life. Should anyone cause her harm, I will see that answered.” His chin jutted out in challenge. “Anyone – even the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Hawke replied. “I don’t even know if my overtures would be returned.”

Edric snorted. “You haven’t seen the way she looks at you,” he muttered.

“How she looks at me?” Hawke leaned forward conspiratorially. “What’re my chances then?”

He was rewarded with a scowl. “Don’t press your luck.”

*

Varric whistled softly as they approached the woods.

“How do you do it, Hawke? By all accounts, your luck ran out long ago.”

Hawke snorted. “You have no idea how many times I’ve asked myself that,” he replied.

“So what, Tree gave you his blessing to court Evelyn?”

“Shh!” Hawke hissed, looking around to see if anyone had overheard them. Luckily, Evelyn was quite a bit ahead of them, deep in conversation with Solas. Cassandra was even farther away, taking the lead as they traversed the Hinterlands. “Not so loud!”

Varric smirked at him. “If you insist.”

“I do,” Hawke snapped. He waited a few moments and added, “And he didn’t give me permission. It was more… well, honestly, it was a thinly veiled threat.”

“I’m not surprised. Tree seems like the protective type.”

“He is,” Hawke agreed. “Thank the Maker their other brother isn’t here. I’d not have made it out of that tent alive.”

The dwarf chuckled. “Probably not.”

They walked in silence for several moments, following Cassandra’s lead up the mountains. Edric had informed them of an enclave of cultists who had taken refuge in a nearby abandoned fortress. Despite the connotations, they seemed to be decent folk, as much in need of aid as anyone in this lands. He wanted them to assess the situation. Evelyn, eager to explore more of the Hinterlands, had quickly taken him up on it, along with several other missions that the Templar hadn’t had the time to see to during his brief stay in the area.

“So Tree knows what’s up,” Varric said suddenly. “What do you plan to do about that?”

“Not pissing him off seems a good start,” Hawke replied.

“I’m serious, Hawke.” He stopped, turning to face Hawke. “What are you going to do about Evelyn? And don’t change the subject.”

Hawke snapped his mouth shut, preventing his evasive reply from passing through his lips. Varric had that look on his face that suggested he wasn’t in the mood for any sort of bullshit. It was the look the dwarf wore when he was at his most serious, when he wouldn’t be denied answers.

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully.

After his conversation with Edric last night, he’d done some serious thinking. He was attracted to Evelyn – that much, he could no longer deny. He wanted her. Every little thing she did of late aroused him, from the way she blushed when he teased her to the way that she shuddered when he touched her. It was getting harder and harder to keep his hands to himself. But it was more than just that; he didn't simply want her in his bed. He wanted to talk to her, spend time with her. He wanted to  _be_ with her.

Discovering the truth had given him pause. He hadn’t asked Edric about the depth of Evelyn’s experience; none of the possible scenarios where he asked such a question ended well. Nor did he have any idea how to broach the subject with Evelyn herself. He didn’t want to embarrass her, or make her feel as if he were judging her, though he desperately found himself wanting to move their relationship forward. It left him in a difficult predicament.

“Hey,” Varric said, nudging his arm. “I’m still here, you know.”

Hawke snorted. “As if I could forget,” he said.

The dwarf studied him for a moment before shaking his head with a wry chuckle. “You haven’t the slightest idea what to do,” he assessed. He turned and began to walk again; Hawke fell into step beside him. “Be careful, Hawke. This could end badly.”

“It could also end well,” Hawke countered.

“It could,” Varric allowed. “Or it could end like-”

“Don’t,” Hawke interjected. “That won’t happen. Evelyn is nothing like _her_.”

Varric nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said, backing off. “I just think you should be careful. We’ve already pledged to aid the Inquisition; we’re in this for the long haul. If something happens and it doesn’t work out between you two…” He shrugged. “Things could get messy.”

“I know.” Hawke appreciated the concern; Varric was one of the few people in his life who would always tell him the truth, even when it wasn’t something that he wanted to hear. He needed someone like that by his side. “I appreciate it.”

“Glad to hear it,” Varric replied. “Now, if I could just get Edric to follow my advice and ask the Seeker why she’s so against his little sojourn to Val Royeaux, maybe _he’d_ appreciate me too.”

Hawke frowned. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, come on, Hawke, it’s obvious. Even you aren’t that dense.”

“Apparently I am.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“Talk, Varric.”

“The Seeker – she’s got it bad for Tree.”

“… you think?”

“Please,” the dwarf scoffed. “I’m a romantic. I have a sense for these things.”

“It can’t be,” Hawke said, shaking his head. “I would’ve noticed that.” He paused then, trying to think of any evidence to support Varric’s claims. At first, he was sure that Varric was exaggerating. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

His eyes widened.

“Sweet Maker, you’re right!” He peered down at the dwarf curiously. “Why didn’t I figure that out?”

Varric merely grinned up at him. “We can’t all be this clever, Hawke.”

*

“Blackwall? Warden Blackwall?”

Evelyn paused as the man before her spun around, a confused expression on his face. He eyed her suspiciously. “Yes?” he asked, his voice thick with an unfamiliar accent.

He didn’t look like a Warden – not that she’d ever seen one, of course. But she’d seen pictures and heard tales of the esteemed Order throughout her childhood. They were always described as tall, fearsome warriors, their armor emblazoned with the sigil of a griffin. This man was of middling height, his armor a simple dark, padded cloth and his sword and shield battered steel, long past their best years. The only thing fearsome about him was the beard that adorned his jaw.

“My name is Evelyn Trevelyan,” she said hesitantly, taking another step forward. “I’m with the Inquisition.”

He lowered his sword. “The Inquisition?” he asked. “What do they want with me?”

“We’ve been trying to contact the Grey Wardens for weeks now,” Evelyn explained, repeating the words in the most recent missive Leliana had sent her. “But we cannot find any trace of them. We heard rumors that you were here in the Hinterlands.” She paused, letting him absorb her words. “Perhaps you’ve heard something of their whereabouts?”

“Can’t say I have,” Blackwall replied.

Evelyn blinked in surprise. “You don’t know where they are?” she asked.

“It’s not as surprising as it seems,” he said quickly. “The only time you see a lot of Wardens in one place is during a Blight, right? That’s our duty – to protect the world from darkspawn. When the Blight’s over, we go back to traveling on our own. Looking for recruits mostly.” He nodded to the small group of men that stood behind him. “I found this lot after their farms had been hit by bandits. Thought I’d train ‘em so they can defend themselves next time.”

“You mean you conscripted them,” Solas interjected. Blackwall’s eyes flicked over to the elf as he stepped forward. “Is that not a legal right the Wardens possess?”

“They needed training,” Blackwall disagreed. He crossed his arms over his barrel chest, his gaze distrustful. “I was the best man for the job.”

“And will you let them go afterwards?”

“Solas-”

Evelyn’s admonishment was cut off by an arrow whistling through the air to land squarely in Blackwall’s shield. She whirled around, unsure of what to expect. A group of men, perhaps ten in number, had crested the hill and followed them over the docks to this side of the lake. Evelyn whipped the staff from her back; all around her, her companions made similar movements.

“It’s an ambush!” Blackwall cried, moving into a fighting position. He nodded to the group of trainees standing behind him. “Defend yourselves!”

The bandits were upon them quickly, crude arrows and rusting swords indicating their impoverished state. They fought like men possessed, a wild hunger in their eyes. Evelyn almost took pity on them as she swung her staff around her, directing her magic towards the attackers. They were emaciated, their clothes mere rags. In all likelihood, they were victims of the war as well, forced to desperate acts in order to survive.

It was a quick fight, her party’s superior skill and weaponry the decisive factors. Evelyn assessed her companions as she lowered her staff, pleased when she noted that they’d only taken minor injuries. Blackwall, on the other hand, hadn’t been so lucky. She found him kneeling upon the ground, one of his trainees a limp figure before him. He sighed, mouth turned down in a rueful grimace as he stood.

“He fought well,” he muttered. He stood there for a moment, the loss hitting him hard. No one spoke, allowing the Warden a moment of silence. Abruptly, he looked up to his other recruits. “Go back to your families,” he said firmly. “Defend them. Protect your lands. You know the basics now; practice, and you’ll get better. I can teach you little else.” They looked at each other hesitantly before shrugging and setting off across the lake, murmuring their farewells as they passed.

“You let them go,” Evelyn remarked, casually leaning against her staff.

“I did,” Blackwall confirmed. He turned to face her. “These are hard times, for all people. I took them in to teach them how to fight.” His eyes flickered to Solas. “Darkspawn aren’t the only monsters out here.”

The elf nodded his agreement, but said nothing.

“The other Wardens,” Evelyn began uncertainly, trying to renew their previous conversation.

“I’ve not had contact from the Order in months,” Blackwall said firmly. “It’s not unheard of.”

“No, but it’s unlikely,” Hawke interjected. He stepped forward. “My brother is a Warden. I was under the impression that you tended to work in groups, reporting to superior officers. You’ve really heard _nothing_ from Weisshaupt?”

“Not a word,” Blackwall replied.

“And you have no idea why they wouldn’t communicate with us?” Evelyn added.

“Not that I can think of.” The Warden paused, looking at her thoughtfully. “What’s all this about? Why do you need to contact the Wardens?”

She stepped forward, holding out her left palm so that he could see the mark, blazing green magic as she moved. He frowned at the sight of it. “You have seen the rifts into the Fade that have appeared,” she said softly. “And the Breach in the sky.”

“Of course I have.”

“I can seal them,” she replied, clenching her hand into a fist. “It’s some form of magic, but we don’t understand the process. We were hoping that the Grey Wardens might help us – their archives are old. Perhaps something like this has happened before.”

“I… I am sorry,” Blackwall hesitated. “But I have no way to contact my superiors. I’m not familiar with the Wardens in these parts.”

“What exactly are you doing up here, then?” Hawke asked sharply. “If you’re not recruiting, and you’re not receiving orders…”

Blackwall didn’t miss the implication; he scowled in response to Hawke’s inflammatory words. Evelyn threw a dark look over her shoulder at her friend but he merely shrugged back at her, not the least bit perturbed by his actions. “We’ll be leaving,” she said firmly, nodding to Blackwall. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Her companions followed as she stalked off towards the docks. _That went well,_ she thought bitterly. Leliana had been so hopeful that this Warden would have had some sort of information about the Order. To think that instead they had found a recluse… she shook her head. _At least we were there to help when the bandits attacked. Perhaps we gave him that much._

“Inquisition!”

Evelyn stopped, looking back. Blackwall had stepped forward, a battered set of armor in his arms. She raised an eyebrow curiously. “Yes?”

“You’re helping the refugees.” It wasn’t a question. “And doing some good for the poor people who have suffered in these lands.”

“The Inquisition is doing what it can,” Cassandra affirmed.

He nodded. “Then let me join you,” he said.

“Join us?” Evelyn repeated, surprised at this turn of events.

Blackwall nodded again. “I want to help,” he insisted.

“Up here, in a secluded cabin?” Varric asked. “You're giving us mixed information here.”

“Perhaps it was wrong of me to isolate myself,” the Warden allowed. “I see that now. But what was I to do? The Blight is over and done!” He returned his attention to Evelyn, apparently having decided that she was the one who would make the decision. “I can help – the Grey Wardens have treaties to secure aid from Thedas. Perhaps the Inquisition can make use of them.”

Evelyn looked to her companions beseechingly. Hawke and Varric shrugged at her, not wanting to interfere, and Cassandra gave no sign that she’d noticed her plea for advice. Solas was simply watching her curiously, as was his habit.

She turned. Blackwall was staring at her hopefully. “Why do you want to help?” she asked quietly.

“I have seen many terrible things,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation. “Perhaps I should be used to it. The life of a Warden isn’t kind. I had thought that out here, in the wild, I could do my duty in peace.” His gaze fell on the fallen recruit, on the arrow sticking from his back. “But there is no peace here.” He looked back to her, his gaze fierce. "And if I can help somewhere else, then that is where I need to be."

Evelyn nodded. She thought that she understood. Blackwall gave off the aura of a man who was exhausted; she could only imagine the kinds of horrors a Grey Warden would have endured. Could she blame him for attempting to find some solace? Not really.  Perhaps, were she in a similar position, she too would have secluded herself. There was no fault in that. If he later wanted to step out of his self-imposed isolation, who was she to stop him?

She stepped forward, hand extended. “We need all the help that we can get,” she offered.

The relief on his face was palpable. He took her hand gratefully. “You will not regret this, Inquisition,” he said. “I will do my part – the Grey Wardens will see this done.”

*

Evelyn barely registered the flap of her tent opening before she heard Hawke begin to speak.

“I’m going to write to Carver.”

She gave him a rather blank look. “Alright,” she said.

“Something is strange about this Warden,” he continued. “I believe I’ve heard of him before… Blackwall… the name rings a bell. But I can’t think of where I would recognize him from.”

“And you think your brother would know?”

“Maybe,” he replied. “But probably not. Still, he’s capable of picking up a book of records and checking.” He snorted. “At least, I hope he is.”

She nodded, rifling through the stack of missives before her. “Leliana would probably be interested in seeing what he can find.”

Hawke paused and gave her an odd look. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

She looked up. “No, why?”

He stared at her for a moment. “You’re being very… subdued,” he said.

“I’m just tired,” she said automatically, bringing a hand up to her aching head. It had been a long day. After finding Blackwall, they had gone hunting for more bandits in the area. They had been expecting _some_ trouble, but what they had found – a secret red lyrium smuggling operation – had been much more than they’d bargained for. Varric had been livid, immediately returning to his tent when they’d set up camp, muttering angrily about writing some letters to _certain_ individuals.

Hawke didn’t look as if he believed her, but to her surprise, he simply sat down before her. “Headache?” he guessed. She nodded. “I can fix that.” He pulled on her hand, getting her to sit up straight before placing a cool palm against her forehead. She gasped as the icy healing magic hit her, relieving the tension behind her eyes almost immediately. He was withdrawing before she knew it, grinning at her dumbfounded reaction.

“How did you do that?” she demanded, the touch of his fingers still lingering on her forehead. “I thought you didn’t know healing magic!”

“I don’t, really. You’ve just witnessed the extent of my abilities,” he replied.

“Thank you,” she said, relishing the first pain-free moment in hours.

He grinned, shifting back so that he was leaning on his arms. “I do what I can,” he teased. His eyes flicked down to the stack of papers before her. “What are those?”

Evelyn scowled at what was currently the bane of her existence. “Leliana sent them to me,” she replied. “She wants me to read them to learn more about the war’s beginnings. They’re terribly dull.”

“Did Cullen write them?” He grabbed one of the reports, leafing through it to the last page to find the name scrawled at the bottom. “Of course he did,” he sniggered, pointing to the Commander’s signature. “Back in Kirkwall, I managed to get my hands on some of the Templars’ reports. Cullen wrote them. I nearly killed myself from the tedium of it all.”

Evelyn couldn’t help but giggle. “He does have a rather dry style, doesn’t he?”

He laughed even harder at that, pages crackling in his hand as his hand twitched. “Dry? Now you’re just being polite.”

She grabbed the report back before he accidentally crumpled it into a ball, placing it neatly on the top of the stack before shoving the entire group to the side. She would read more of them later – when Hawke wasn’t here. It would be rude to ignore him, after all.

She looked up to find him his eyes still on her.

“I talked with your brother,” he offered.

Her stomach fluttered in anticipation. “And?” she breathed. Edric had left before dawn, and the rest of their party had been so busy today that she hadn’t gotten a chance to ask Hawke how their conversation had fared.

“He’s very protective,” Hawke replied.

“I can look after myself.”

The corner of his lips turned up in amusement. “I told him as much. I told him you could make your own decisions.”

“And how did that go?”

“Surprisingly well!” He winked. “I must have made quite the impression in the last few days!”

She couldn’t help but smile, unable to resist his charms. “That or he knows better than to interfere,” she replied. 

He grinned. “What if he had tried?” he asked. “What would you have done?”

“Remind him that he’s my _brother,_ not my keeper,” she said. “Loudly.”

He laughed. “I’m a little sad that I don’t get to see that!” he said.  “That’s one of the things I like best about you, you know - you’re never afraid to speak your mind.”

_One of the things - are there others?_ “It gets me in trouble a lot,” she admitted.  

“I like trouble,” he said, grinning.

What else did he like about her? She found herself burning to find out, and so she asked, her voice quiet.

He studied her for a moment, thinking. “Lots of things, to be honest,” he replied. 

“Name one.” 

“I… like how easy it is to rile you up. I like how you fight me back. You’re tenacious - like a mabari.”

She snorted.

“Don’t laugh!” he said, though he couldn’t follow his own advice. “It’s true! And I have a great admiration of mabari.”

“I was being serious when I asked!”

“So was I,” Hawke admitted, his laughter fading. “I like your tenacity, Evelyn. I like that you aren’t afraid to use your magic to help people. You’re kind, but not in the protective, motherly sort of way. You’re kind in that you try to do what’s right. Like this.” He reached forward and grabbed the hand that bore the anchor. “You agreed to help the Inquisition without a second thought - because you knew it was right. You didn’t hesitate; it wasn’t even a decision, you just acted. I _like_ that.”

“Really?” He seemed sincere, but she couldn’t help but recall all of the times her mother had chided her for what she had labeled pigheadedness. She’d not considered that perhaps it was also a trait in which she could take pride.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

She shrugged, absently noticing that he still hadn’t let go of her hand. If he didn't notice, she wasn't going to tell.

“What do you like about me?” At her startled look, he quickly added, “Other than my incredible good looks and winsome charm.”

“I… you’re very…” She huffed in frustration, unable to think of the word she wanted. “I don’t know how to say it.”

“Witty? Strong? Oozing masculinity?”

She scrunched her nose up. “Has someone actually said that about you?” she asked.

“Sadly, no,” he replied. His melancholy was short-lived, however, as he soon squeezed her hand, prompting her to continue.

“I think… that a lot of what you said about me also applies to you,” she admitted. “You help those in need without thinking about it, and you do what you believe is right. You helped _me_ even when you didn’t have to. You went out of your way to do so.” She shook her head. “It sounds silly, but you’re like a hero out of a story.”  

“... well, technically, I _do_ have a story,” Hawke said, his lips twisting up into a sardonic smirk. “I can’t say much for its accuracy, but I must give credit where credit is due - Varric paints a dashing hero figure.” 

Evelyn chuckled. “That’s another thing,” she added. “You always know how to make me smile.”

“I like your smile.”

The thought should have made her happy, but she found herself strangely conflicted. What did he mean by that? What did his use of the word “like” truly mean? Did her smile make his stomach flutter, as his smile did to hers? Did he sneak glances at her to see if she was smiling, the way she snuck glances at him? She didn’t want to ask, but it was the only way to be sure.

“Hawke-”

Her murmur was cut short by the opening of the tent flap, a gust of cool air making her break out in gooseflesh. Varric appeared then, a wry smile forming on his face when he saw their joined hands. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said lightly, not sounding very apologetic at all. His brown eyes moved to Hawke. “You wanted to see me?”

“Ah, yes, I needed to ask you something,” Hawke replied. “I’ll come find you in a moment.”

Varric nodded and backed out, still smirking at them.

“Sorry about that,” Hawke said ruefully, returning his attention to Evelyn. “I don’t want to leave, but I really do need to ask him a question. It’s about getting my letter to Carver.”

“I don’t want you to leave either,” she muttered, slightly miffed at Varric’s unwanted intrusion.

He chuckled. “I can come back later, if you’d like,” he offered. “Though you may be asleep.”

“Would you?” 

“Of course,” he said automatically. “I like being with you.” He relinquished his grip on her hand and stood. “And I’d never deny you the luxury that is being in my presence,” he added, smiling impishly.

“Alright, you can leave now.”

He laughed. “Give me an hour or so,” he said, moving towards the flap. “I’ll come back.”

Again, she shivered at the sudden blast of wind, quickly moving to grab a blanket to wrap around her shoulders. Her tent felt much larger now that Hawke was gone, and less warm. She wasn’t so sure that she’d deem his presence a luxury, but it was soothing. More and more, she found herself wanting to spend time with him, and him alone. It was a strange feeling; she’d never felt this strongly about another person before, not in this way. In some ways, it frightened her, but in others ways, she found it exhilarating.

And she got to see him again later.

Smiling to herself, she pulled the stack of reports back to her. She hoped the hour would pass quickly - she truly couldn’t wait to see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> A HUGE shoutout to bushviper for beta-ing this for me :) This week's chapter was a bit rough, but she helped me smooth out the edges, much for the better! <3
> 
> As always, feedback is much appreciated!


	13. Allies and Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edric learns of the treachery of Lord Seeker Lucius, but gains an ally in Vivienne. Meanwhile, Evelyn and her companions gain access to Redcliffe and learn the fate of the rebel mages.

Hawke pushed open the flap to Evelyn’s tent, half expecting her to be asleep. His conversation with Varric had taken longer than he had anticipated, talk of the Grey Wardens and the red lyrium smugglers keeping their discussion alive for almost two hours. He’d thought that perhaps he shouldn’t even visit Evelyn again that night. But he had told her that he would return, and so return he had.

As luck would have it, she _was_ awake, still buried in the pile of reports she’d been sent. She looked up with a smile as he approached, and the hand holding the papers fell to the ground. “You’re back,” she said.

“Of course,” he replied, sitting down before her. “I said that I would.”

She nodded. “You did,” she agreed, “but I thought that perhaps… well, when you didn’t come back after an hour…”

“Ah, yes, sorry about that,” he said quickly. “Varric and I got to talking about things, and we lost track of time.”

One of her eyebrows arched at that. “Things?”

“Things,” he said, nodding. He would have said more, had he been less tired and in a happier mood. As it was, he felt mentally exhausted after his lengthy conversation with Varric. He didn’t much feel like having the same, grim talk with another person just now – even when that person was Evelyn, with whom he normally enjoyed speaking. _I can tell her of it tomorrow,_ he reasoned.

“You look like you’ve made some progress,” he commented, switching the topic as he nodded to the reports.

She sighed. “It’s never-ending,” she lamented, pushing the pages to the side. “And as soon as I finish these, Leliana’s likely to send me _more_.”

“Varric says much the same of his editor.”

“They’re just so…” She huffed, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “I understand that it’s important for me to know these sorts of things. Cassandra and Edric are already familiar with the issues, but until I catch up, I’m not on an equal level with them. I don’t think I’m as necessary anyways, but Leliana seems to think so.”

“You are.” She looked surprised, so he reached out to grab the hand with the anchor. It was so small in his, her skin smooth but lightly calloused. “You are just as important as any of them. They cannot do this without you.”    

She snorted, looking down at her palm in – disdain? Disgust? Curiosity? It was difficult for him to say. “It was an accident,” she murmured. “I have no idea how this happened. It could just as easily gone to someone else.”

“It could have,” he agreed, “but it didn’t. It came to you.”

“I either have the worst luck in the world, or the best,” she deduced.

He grinned. “Well, you can’t have the worst luck,” he said. “That title belongs to me, and I’m not good at sharing.” He shifted, releasing her hand to move into a more comfortable position. “And you survived the explosion at the Temple. You weren’t even harmed. I think that means you have some of the greatest luck I’ve ever encountered.”

She made a noncommittal noise. “Perhaps.”

“If that wasn’t enough, you also met me,” he continued. “And if that doesn’t make you the luckiest person in Thedas, I don’t know what does.”

“You think very highly of yourself,” she commented. He could tell she was teasing by the light tone in her voice, the way her chin quivered in suppressed mirth.

He shrugged. “I have low standards.”

She laughed, shaking her head at his easy self-deprecation. “What does that say of your friends?” she asked.

“They have poor judgment?”

“Or they love you despite yourself.”

He grinned. “I like that! I’ll have to remember that for the next time Varric asks why he puts up with me.”

“How did the two of you meet?” He blinked at the sudden question. Evelyn had drawn her legs in close to her chest, resting her chin upon the top of one knee. She was peering at him speculatively, waiting for an answer.

“He offered me a job,” Hawke replied. “I’d been in Kirkwall for a while, attempting to scrounge up money to pay off my uncle’s debts while working as a mercenary. Meanwhile, Varric and his brother, Bartrand, were setting up an expedition into the Deep Roads following the end of the Blight. Varric had heard of me, and wanted to hire me on.”

“As an… explorer?” She snorted. “I can’t really picture you doing much adventuring in caves.”

“The damp does do a number on my hair,” he agreed. “But no, I was to be a partner in the expedition – I put down some coin to fund the project in the hopes that what we discovered underground would be worth the investment.”

“And did you? Find anything, that is.”

“More than I know what to do with,” he admitted. “I used some of it to buy back the Amell estate for Mother. And then she used a good bit of it to decorate the place. Of course, that still leaves me with a ridiculous amount of wealth.”

“Amell?” She was frowning at the unfamiliar name.

“My mother’s family,” he clarified. “Before she was a Hawke, she was an Amell. I believe the Hero of Ferelden was a distant relation.”

“Really?” The excitement in her voice was clear. “Did you ever meet her? The Hero?”

He shook his head. “No,” he replied. “Anders spoke of her occasionally though. She was a Circle mage before she was recruited into the Wardens. Very religious, apparently. I’m not sure we would have gotten along.”

“You don’t believe in the Maker?”

“Oh, I do,” he said quickly. “Now I wouldn’t consider myself a fanatic. Not to mention I think the Chantry is a ridiculously overreaching organization that’s done far more harm than good. But I _do_ believe.” He tilted his head a bit. “You don’t, do you?” She’d said as much to Leliana when they had first met the spymaster, back at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He found himself curious then – what did Evelyn believe?

She shifted uncomfortably, as if the topic were difficult for her to discuss. “My father believes in the Maker. So does Edric.”

“…but do you?”

She peered at him for a moment, uncertain. Was she afraid that he would judge her if she admitted that she didn’t? He felt badly then, for that wasn’t the case at all. He’d asked out of curiosity, in an attempt to get to know her better.

“No,” she said finally. “I don’t. Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No!” he said quickly. “Not at all!”

“No?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course not,” he said.

“It’s not that I don’t agree with the basic morality of the Canticles,” Evelyn explained. She wasn’t looking at him, her eyes fixed instead on a small dark spot on the canvas floor of the tent. “But what kind of god disappears? What kind of god turns his back on his people? The Chantry seems to think he’s still out there, but how can they be sure? I can’t worship something that I’m not even sure exists.” She snorted. “On top of that, I can’t condone the Chantry’s attitude towards magic. I shouldn’t be deemed one step above a criminal simply because I was born with the ability to use magic.”

He knew the feeling well. Being a mage was as much a part of him as his height, or the color of his hair. He hadn’t decided on either or those, just as he’d not chosen to be a mage. It had simply happened. What right did the Chantry have to monitor him? They claimed it was for the protection of non-mages, but it seemed more like a desire to control a powerful resource. It had always felt that way to him, and to his father, who had admittedly colored his early views on magic.

“Let’s not talk about that.” Evelyn shifted again, this time tucking her knees beneath her.

“Alright,” he agreed, eager to leave the awkward topic of the Chantry behind. “Then what do you wish to discuss?”

She shrugged. “Ask me a question,” she suggested. “I’ll tell you the answer, and then I’ll ask you one in return.”

“…Can I ask a naughty question?”

She scowled. “No!”

He grinned at the scandalized tone, the familiar scrunch of her nose, and the tilt of her brows down across her eyes. It was adorable, and utterly irresistible – hence why he teased her so much. “Have it your way,” he allowed. “What…is your favorite food?”

“Strawberries.” He was surprised at how quickly she answered, and how quickly she asked him a question in return. “How old were you when you showed signs of magic?”

“Jumping straight into the deep questions, I see,” he commented. “I was nine. I was angry that I couldn’t catch a fox playing in the nearby fields, and I accidentally set its tail afire during a temper tantrum.”

“Was it alright?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. I started screaming when I realized what I’d done, and Father came out and threw a bucket of water on it. Poor thing. I must have traumatized it.”

“Probably,” she agreed. “Your turn.”

“Is your other brother a mage as well?”

She shook her head. “I’m the only one - other than Mother, of course. I suppose it was a good thing. Ewan can’t keep a secret to save his life, and Edric always wanted to join the Templars. Had either of them been born a mage, things would have been very difficult.” She paused, considering her question. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Green.”

Had it always been green? No, it had been blue when he was a child; he specifically remembered asking for blue clothing and his father gruffly telling him that he would take what he was given. He frowned; when had it switched to green? He was so intent upon discovering the answer to his question that he almost didn’t hear Evelyn’s subsequent inquiry.

“What type of green?”

“Dark green,” he replied absently. “Like the color of a forest, or moss upon a rock. Not light green – it’s too bright, too garish. But dark, deep green – that’s my favorite.” It took her raising her eyes to meet his for him to realize why his favorite had changed.

_Oh, Maker, I’ve got it bad._

Could she tell what he was thinking? A delicate flush had appeared on her cheeks, and he found himself hoping it was anticipation rather than embarrassment. But what would she be expecting? He still hadn’t decided how to pursue her, if he even planned to at all. He’d given it entirely too much thought, but was still bereft of an answer. Now _he_ was the one who felt nervous.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked faintly.

“It’s not your turn.”

“What did you mean earlier, when you said that you liked me?” she murmured, ignoring his quip. She moved a little closer, looking up at him earnestly through impossibly long lashes.

“Exactly that,” he replied quietly. He dared not move an inch from where he sat, fearing that he would be unable to resist touching her if he were closer. As it was, she had shifted her position so that they were closer in height, her knees almost brushing his. “I like you.”

“Yes, but _how?_ ” she persisted. “In what way?”

He breathed in sharply through his nose when one of her hands reached out to touch his arm. Again, he forced himself to not make any sudden movements, wary of startling her. _She’s not a deer,_ the wry voice in his head reminded him. _She won’t run away if you touch her. You’ve done it before without any adverse effects._ But that was different. That was before.

“I like you, Hawke,” she continued when he remained silent. “I like you… a _lot_.” Her fingers twitched where they rested upon his arm, his eyes drawn to them by the sudden movement.

_She’s nervous too,_ he guessed, returning his gaze to her face. Somehow, they were even closer than before, not even a hand’s length separating them now. “I like you as well,” he replied.

“Do you?” she asked; her voice hitched a little on the second word. She scowled, and cleared her throat before she spoke again. “Just to clarify… I don’t like you as a friend.” Her eyes flicked down to his lips, and almost imperceptibly, her mouth parted. He had to suppress a groan, fighting the urge to grab her and kiss her senseless. _I won’t do that. Not unless she kisses me first. I have to… I have to know she wants this as well._

“I had hoped,” she continued, “that you might feel something similar for me.” She pulled back then, looking at him with wide, apprehensive eyes. “Am I wrong?”

“Maker, _no_ ,” he breathed.

She surged forward, taking them both by surprise when she pressed her mouth against his. She tasted sweet, a faint hint of the wine she’d been drinking earlier still on her tongue. Hawke couldn’t help but groan, reaching out to pull her closer to him. She moved willingly, her hands coming up to frame his face even as her legs moved into his lap. Her soft lips were insistent against his, pliant and eager.

When she slowly opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, he didn’t hesitate. Dragging his fingers through her hair, he cradled her neck with one palm while the other sought out her cheek, the heat of her skin pleasant under his fingertips. He bit down on her lip, drawing the soft bit of flesh between his teeth, and the noise she made nearly undid him. Startled, he opened his eyes, and was not prepared for the half-lidded, lusty gaze she shot back at him.

Hawke broke away first, panting. He kept his hands on her, unwilling to lose that contact just yet. Evelyn stared back at him, fingers slowly sliding down to rest against his chest.

“Well,” he said finally, grinning at her, “that was nice.”

She laughed, tapping her forehead to his. “That was _more_ than nice,” she corrected.

“That wasn’t your first kiss, was it?”

“No,” she said scornfully, pulling back to look at him. She raised an eyebrow at his query. “Why?”

“Well,” he huffed, “Edric had mentioned something about –”

“Let me guess,” she interjected. “He told you I’ve no experience to my name.”

“Not in those terms,” he said. “But yes. Yes, he did.”

She rolled her eyes, leaning back in to press a firm, heated kiss against his lips. “Edric is an idiot,” she murmured.

She kissed him again, and his arms tightened around her, drawing her close against his chest. Though she’d been the one to initiate that first, searing kiss, he quickly took control of the second, using all of his skill to leave her thoroughly breathless. For long minutes, they sat intertwined, mouths teasing, licking, biting. He felt he could drown in her, the heated touch of her lips against lips incredible. He knew that they should stop so that they could get some rest, but he found himself loath to move, his ardor lingering on for one moment after another.

It was Evelyn who finally drew away. Her lips were swollen from his affection, and her eyes were shining brightly. He couldn’t resist the sight of her, and leaned in to press one more kiss against her lips.

“I want to kiss you until morning,” he admitted, relishing the pleased flush that covered her cheeks as he spoke.

“I want that, too,” she replied.

He sighed as she retreated, already mourning the loss of contact. “Says the girl throwing me out of her tent,” he lamented.

“You can always come back,” she suggested, rising to her feet. “Tomorrow, when I’m not exhausted.” She grinned at him over her shoulder. “You can even kiss me good morning.”

He pushed himself up, muscles protesting after being in one position for so long. “I like the sound of that.”

The smile she sent him was beatific.

“Me too.”

*

Edric was in a foul mood.

He grabbed the tankard in front of him and took several long drinks of ale, grimacing at the taste. He wasn’t fond of Orlesian brews; they tended to be either fruity or floral, neither of which was an appropriate taste for a beer. Give him a good, Fereldan ale, or a dark, foaming dwarven stout any day. Of course, if it hadn’t been for the debacle in Val Royeaux, he wouldn’t have even been drinking this swill.

Just thinking the name of that city made him scowl.

It had been a disaster. First, the Chantry had attempted to brand him a heretic as soon as he’d stepped foot into the market square. Though he’d used rational arguments against such criticisms, they had not heard him. They had even called out for his arrest, though he’d liked to have seen them try to take him.

And then Lord Seeker Lucius had appeared and everything had fallen apart.

The leader of the Seekers had taken all of the Templars and left the city, abandoning the leadership of the Chantry. He’d verbally attacked Edric as soon as he’d seen him, and when Edric had asked for an audience with him, the man had made his hatred clear. None of the Templars had dared to move against him; the one who had so much as voiced a secondary opinion had been harshly silenced. No – there would be no help from the Templars. They had been taken out of his reach.

But he was determined to get them back. Somehow, he would convince them of the sincerity and importance of the Inquisition’s mission. He _needed_ them. No other group was as practiced in taking down magic, and the Breach was strong enough to change the world.

He took another swig of beer, drinking quickly so the taste didn’t linger in his mouth. He would have to write to Leliana. She would find out where they had gone; perhaps she could even send a few of her men to infiltrate their location and see what information they could dig up. He would send word to her later that evening – hopefully, his mood would be better then.

“Messere Trevelyan?”

Edric turned at the sound of his name. A young man was standing to the side, half-bowed in a gesture of respect. His clothes were simple, but clean and well made – the garb of a serving man.  “Yes?” he asked, setting his drink back on the counter.

“For you,” the man said, proffering a gilded envelope. His voice was heavily accented – _Orlesian,_ Edric guessed. “The esteemed Madame de Fer, Court Enchanter to Empress Celene, would be honored by your attendance at her salon.”

He had not heard of this Lady of Iron, but her title caught his attention. Surely Court Enchanter to the Empress of the Orlesian Empire was a high-ranking position for a mage. To be fair, however, he was not well versed in the politics of Orlais; he could not say whether such a rank granted this Madame de Fer any power.

“What does she want of me?”

“Madame would like to speak with you of a matter of great import,” the man continued.

“And what matter is this?”

“I was not informed, messere.”

A private matter, then. Edric nodded and thanked the man for the invitation, turning the envelope over in his hands. It gave the basic information about the affair, including the time, date, and location. It was soon, he noted, and only a day’s ride from Val Royeaux. Were he to stay another night, he could purchase a nicer set of clothes and pay this mysterious woman a visit. But should he?

He pondered this for several minutes, motioning to the bartender for another ale. What would the Court Enchanter of Orlais want with the Inquisition? That she was a mage was obvious; however, he had no way of knowing whether or not she had aligned with the Circles or become an apostate in the wake of the rebellion. What she wanted with them very likely depended on her personal position.

“Here you go,” the bartender said, setting a flagon down in front of him. He noticed the invitation lying on the counter and whistled. “Fancy, that.”

“That it is,” Edric agreed.

“It is for Madame de Fer’s salon, yes?”

Edric looked up at the man sharply “You know of this woman?” he asked.

“But of course.”

“What can you tell me of her?” Edric asked, reaching into a pocket for a few more silver coins. He placed these on the counter, where the bartender hastily took them.

“She is a fearsome woman, the Madame de Fer,” the man continued, reaching for a cloth and a dirty glass. “She holds great influence at the court.”

“A mage? Truly?”

“Before her, the position was largely a formality,” the bartender explained. “But I hear she has turned it into a place of special importance, playing the Game as well as any courtier.”

“What does she use her prestige for?”

“This and that.” The man shrugged. “I am not sure what she wants. But she is ambitious, or so everyone says.”

“Does she belong to a Circle?”

“She was the First Enchanter at Montsimmard. Before that… I believe she came from the Free Marches.”

Edric thanked the man for the information, mulling over what he had learned. A fearsome, ambitious woman… he would have expected no less of someone whose moniker was the Lady of Iron. She was intelligent, then, and shrewd – all who played the Game were. And all of them wanted something.

What did Madame de Fer want?

There was only one way to find out.

*

“My apologies, darling.”

Edric followed the stunning woman out of the hall, letting her lead him to a secluded balcony where they would not be overheard. Many eyes were on them as they left the entryway, a result of one nobleman’s careless - and loud - threats. Luckily, his host had come to his aid. “I appreciate your quick thinking,” he replied.

She chuckled. “He would do well to remember that it is the height of rudeness to insult another’s guest,” she said, turning to face him. She kept her mask on, peering at him through the holes with keen, intelligent eyes. “But enough about him. Allow me to introduce myself – I am Vivienne, formerly of the Circle at Montsimmard. And you are Edric Trevelyan.”

He bowed politely. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Vivienne,” he said.

She smiled. “Such manners,” she said approvingly. “You are originally from Ostwick, yes?”

He nodded. “I was born in a small village just outside the city,” he replied.

“Tell me, Edric, how does one born in a small village outside the Free City of Ostwick manage to climb his way to the top of the Inquisition?” She leaned against a pillar, the casual movement somehow appearing elegant.

“A good bit of luck and the willingness to change,” he admitted. She seemed to like that answer, so he continued. “I enlisted with the Templars at Ostwick when I was fifteen, and served them dutifully for almost fifteen years. After the incident in Kirkwall, I volunteered to help clean up the city. While there, Seeker Pentaghast found me and recruited me for the Inquisition.”

“I, too, hail from the Free Marches,” she said. “Wycome. Have you been there?” Edric shook his head. “Ah. It is a lovely city. I visit… occasionally. When it was discovered that I possess magical abilities, I was sent to the Circle.” Her lips curved up into a smile. “Ostwick, specifically. Far before your time, of course. I would have remembered such an imposing figure.”

“I understand that you were the First Enchanter at Montsimmard,” he commented, eager to hear more of her background.

“I was to be,” she agreed, “But that was before the mage rebellion. When the Circles collapsed, there was very little of a position left for me to assume.” She paused, studying him for a moment. “Tell me, Edric, what do you think of the Circles? What is the Inquisition’s goal regarding the mages?”

“‘Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him’,” he quoted. “So the Chantry has taught us for centuries.”

“I did not ask you what the Chantry thought of Circles,” Vivienne said, bemused. “I asked what _you_ thought of them.”

“There was obvious corruption in the Templar ranks,” Edric said bluntly, figuring that it was best to tell the truth with this woman. He did not know what she wanted, but he would not lie to her in order to get her on his side. Did she even want to _be_ on his side? Were there sides here? He still wasn’t sure. “I saw that much in Kirkwall; the Templars there were terrified of magic, their fear quickly turning to blind hatred, a terrible anger that they took out upon the mages. I saw… I saw injustices everywhere.”

“You would cleanse the ranks?”

“I would,” he said, nodding. “And I would reform the Circles to make the lives of mages less oppressive.”

“Reform,” she repeated. “You are not in favor of abolishing them?”

“That is not the Inquisition’s goal,” Edric said firmly. “Our goal is to restore peace to Thedas. Order and stability are of paramount importance; all other ideals must be pushed aside for when we have the time and resources to devote to them.”

“A sentiment I share,” she replied. She looked away, down to the gardens of the estate. A fountain tinkled in the distance, and the heady smell of roses was thick in the air. She eyed the grounds fondly for several moments before returning her gaze to him. “I would like to offer my services.”

“Your… services?”

“There are some of us who still recognize the need for order in this world,” Vivienne explained. She began to walk, motioning for Edric to join her. “After the Circles fell, those of us who wished to remain loyal to the Chantry banded together. Loyalists, they call us. I was one of the most senior mages who did not stray, and as such, I have been afforded a great deal of responsibility for their wellbeing. As their leader, I think it only appropriate that I thus lend my aid to the Inquisition, the one group attempting to restore peace to Thedas.”

“And how does the Empress feel about this?” Edric asked. “You _are_ her Court Enchanter.”

“Oh, _that,_ ” Vivienne replied, waving a hand. “Celene recognizes that these are dark, desperate times, my dear. She will find something else to entertain her while I am gone. Or someone.”

Edric considered her offer. It was clear to him that Vivienne possessed a great deal of influence in Orlais; her salon was bursting with people, nobles packing the dancing floor and the great hall. With that influence came a great many connections - relationships and networks that the Inquisition could sorely use. As the leader of the loyal mages, she also gave a bit of credibility to their cause.

He worried, though, that the rebel factions would see the alliance as a reason to fight back. If the Loyalists were to get involved, surely it would drive the rebels to more dire actions.

Edric turned to Vivienne. “I do not think it wise for your mages to get involved,” he said lightly, attempting to be as tactful as possible.

“Of course not,” she agreed. “You cannot afford to make anyone angry by allying with a group of _mages_.” She said the word as if it were a curse. “No, darling – the only aid I am offering is my own.”

“And what do you get out of this?”

“Peace, order, credibility,” she said airily. She turned and stopped, looking up at him imperiously. “I liked my life before the rebellion, Edric. I enjoyed it. I will admit that there is quite a bit about the current system that is broken, and it must be fixed. But now is _not_ the time to be worried about righting past wrongs. The rogue mages should have understood that this rebellion was horribly ill timed, especially in light of the recent events at the Conclave. We must focus on restoring order to Thedas. Justice can come later.”

“I agree.”

She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“The Inquisition would be honored to have you, Lady Vivienne.”

“Excellent, darling. I shall pack my things at once.”

*

“So I think I’ve finally come up with a name for Evelyn.”

Hawke turned to look at Varric. “Yes?” he prompted.

“Snaps.”

“…Huh.”

“Because she has a comeback for everything,” the dwarf explained.

“Yes, yes, I get it.”

“And she’s _fast._ Have you ever seen her run? I think she could overtake a horse if she tried.”

“Let’s be serious here, Varric.”

“Alright, maybe not a horse,” he allowed. “But definitely a druffalo.”

“Shit!”

Their playful conversation cut off abruptly at Evelyn’s fearful shout. Hawke lurched forward, running around the curve in the path to see what was the matter. The answer was soon apparent – a rift shimmered before them, the gate to Redcliffe still sealed shut behind it. The guard had pressed himself tight against the wall, too terrified to even draw his sword.

“That’s new!” Varric huffed, running over to Hawke’s side.

“Lucky us!” Hawke grabbed his staff, finding his way to Evelyn’s side as Varric clambered up a rocky slope for a better position. Blackwall and Cassandra had both pulled their shields over their arms, charging in to attack the demons that had fallen out of the hole in the Veil.

A terror rose to its shaky legs a few feet away; Hawke blasted it with a fireball as soon as it noticed them, forcing a shriek of protest from its gaping mouth. Evelyn followed up his attack with a second set of flames, and the creature staggered back, tendrils of fire licking its warped, green skin. A bolt from Varric’s crossbow did it in, and the demon dissipated, its remnants returning to the Fade.

They were given no time to rest, more demons staggering towards them. Evelyn lurched to the side, bringing up a barrier right before blasting the creature closest to her with force. Blackwall lunged in to help, his sword arcing out to hit the demon’s flank.

Hawke had bigger problems. He was thrown to the ground by one of the terror’s attacks, the wind exiting his lungs in a harsh gasp. Scowling up at the thing, he whacked it hard with his staff and scrambled to his feet, preparing to reduce it to cinders.

A strange thing happened then – as he directed the magic with his staff, it seemed as if time slowed down. He saw the demon lurch, its movements sluggish and stilting; he knew instantly where and when his fire would hit it. What was happening?

The terror was thrown to the ground by his spell, and suddenly everything was normal again. Hawke looked around wildly to see if anyone else was similarly affected. Evelyn and Blackwall were fighting off the remaining wisps, both intent on their task. Cassandra was taking down the last terror, her movements slow and deliberate. _That’s not normal,_ he thought. The Seeker was quite quick, fluttering around a battlefield like lightning. It was one of the things he’d first noticed about her.

He frowned when he noticed the strange, shimmering ring at her feet. _What is that?_

“Hawke!”

Varric’s sharp shout alerted him just in the nick of time. Immediately, he spun around and pushed out with his magic, lightning erupting from the tip of his staff. The wisp that had attempted to sneak up on him let out a piteous cry before vanishing. He nodded his thanks to the dwarf before looking back on the rift. It had stabilized, crackling with potential energy. Evelyn leaped forward, her hand outstretched, and soon it was no more.

“What was that?” he asked, the question directed at no one in particular.

Blackwall fixed him with a strange look. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“The rift,” Hawke replied. “It was-”

“Odd,” Solas finished. He nodded at Hawke. “I saw it too. It appeared as if time was slowing down near some of the demons, bending around them.”

“Did you see the circles?”

The elf nodded. “I saw them. Though I cannot say what they were,” he added.

The guard stepped forward then, sweat dripping down his forehead. “You got rid of it!” he exclaimed. “Maker’s breath!”

“That is the first rift you have seen?” Solas inquired.

The man shook his head. “There’s one out in Hafter’s Wood,” he replied. “But it was just this big, shimmering light! Nothing tried to attack me! What _were_ those things?”

“Demons,” Cassandra said shortly.

The man’s mouth worked furiously as he attempted to comprehend her answer. “Demons?” he finally asked, his voice cracking on the second syllable. “From…from the _Fade_?”

“That is where they come from, yes,” Hawke said dryly.

“But why are they _here_?”

“That’s why I’ve come,” Evelyn interjected, stepping forward. She showed him the mark upon her palm. “I can seal the rifts into the Fade, and stop the demons from coming. I’ve been traveling all over the Hinterlands.”

“Maker be praised,” the guard said.

“I have heard reports that there’s another rift inside the city,” Evelyn said slowly. “The last time we attempted to enter, the guard told us that the way was shut.”

“It still is,” the man replied. “But…” He hesitated, looking over his shoulder. He grimaced. “Perhaps this once, I should disobey my orders.”

“You will let us in?” Cassandra asked sharply.

The guard nodded. “It’s too dangerous not to,” he explained, walking over to the guardhouse. “If you can seal these, these _rifts_ …” He shook his head. “Maker smite the man who tries to stop you.”

*

“I cannot believe this!”

Cassandra slammed an angry fist down on the table, the ale sloshing around angrily in their cups. Her brows were drawn down into a scowl, her visage murderous. “How could she do such a thing?” she demanded. “It’s heinous!”

“It is,” Solas agreed. “The act of a desperate woman, to be sure, but nonetheless a terrible deed.” He was gripping his staff uncomfortably tight, his lips thin in suppressed anger.

Evelyn supposed it was her turn to express her condemnation of the situation, but she found herself at a loss for words. What could she say about the terrible scene they had just witnessed in the common room? How could she give voice to her appalled thoughts?

Beside her, Hawke seemed similarly upset. He was gripping the arms of his chair with white knuckles, his eyes distant. What was he seeing? It surely wasn’t the table before them.

“We must return to Haven immediately,” Cassandra continued. “The others must know of this development.”

“We aren’t going to try and free the mages?” In her surprise, Evelyn managed to find her voice.

The Seeker turned to her. “I want to help them,” she said. “But we are too few. Redcliffe Castle is one of the strongest in Ferelden. We cannot take it with just the six of us. All of our soldiers may not be enough to take it. There may…” She gulped. “There may be nothing that we can do.”

“Have you ever been to Tevinter, Seeker?”

She turned to look at Hawke. “Once or twice,” she replied warily.

“Do you know how they treat their slaves?”

Cassandra stood up straight, crossing her arms over her breasts. “What are you trying to say, Hawke?”

“I happen to know a former Tevinter slave,” he said flatly. “He’s one of my closest friends, like a brother to me. But do you know how long it took him to be able to trust me? Do you know how traumatized his time in Tevinter left him?” He glared up at her. “He still can’t bear to have people touch him for more than a few moments. He still has trouble sleeping at night. What do you think is going to happen to those mages when they return to Tevinter? What do you think is going to happen to those _children_?”

“Do you think I like this situation?” Cassandra snapped.

“Honestly, I can’t tell!” Hawke retorted. “Because this makes me _furious,_ and the worst you can muster is frustration at the _inconvenience_ that we don’t have the requisite amount of men to take the castle!”

“Do not mistake me!” the Seeker said darkly. “This was a terrible decision!”

“Of course it was!” Hawke cried. “She felt she had no other choice!”

“There is always another choice!”

Hawke snorted. “That’s naïve, even for you,” he spat. “Where else in Thedas could they have possibly gone?”

“I understand this is a difficult position for the rebel mages,” Cassandra protested. “But to go to Tevinter? And sell themselves into _slavery_? It is inexcusable!”

“What _Fiona_ did is inexcusable,” Hawke corrected her. “What the rest of them did was place their faith in their leader. Maker forbid they do such a thing!”

Evelyn had never seen Hawke get so angry before. He was livid, his fury barely contained; she could sense his magic, simmering like boiling water under his skin. Now she saw why some people had come to fear him, how he’d become some a formidable force in Kirkwall.

“What would you have me do?” Cassandra demanded.

“Anything!” Hawke snapped. “ _Something_!”

“We will return to Haven,” she said firmly. “We can make our decision there.”

“And while we dither about what to do, what will happen to them? What if they leave before we return? We’ll lose them!”

“It is a risk we must take!”

Hawke glared at her. “You’re wrong,” he snapped. “Human lives are never worth risking.” He stood and stormed out of the room, not sparing a look back.

“Well, that went well,” Varric said dryly.

“Quiet, Varric!” Cassandra snapped, sitting down in her chair. “No one asked for your input.”

Varric shot Evelyn a look that suggested he was ready to leave the room and get some air. Feeling much the same, she rose to her feet and followed him out the door. She felt Cassandra’s eyes on her back, boring into her like spikes.

“Care for a drink?” he asked, heading down the stairs for the bar. “I know I could use one.”

“No, thank you,” Evelyn replied softly. She wasn’t a fan of Fereldan ale, she’d recently discovered. No matter how little of it she drank, it always gave her a headache, and the taste left much to be desired. Nor was she in the mood for drinking, truth be told. She had too much to think about.

“Suit yourself,” Varric said with a shrug. He settled down onto a bar stool, waving a hand to the bartender.

Evelyn sat down beside him, looking around the common room for Hawke. She sighed when she couldn’t find him, but wasn’t altogether surprised. Had she been in his situation, she too would have stalked off to be alone.

“Don’t worry about Hawke.”

She turned back to Varric; he was intent upon the flagon the bartender had set in front of him, carefully avoiding her gaze. “What?” she asked.

“He’ll come back; he always does.”

“He seemed upset,” she said lightly, unsure.

“Aren’t you?”

She supposed that she was, now that he mentioned it. But where she was filled with dismay and indecision about how to tackle this latest problem, Hawke was angry that they were doing nothing to fix it. Their reactions were two sides of the coin same, alike and foreign at all once.

“I don’t know what we can do,” she murmured, staring down at the bar’s wooden surface. She clasped her fingers together when she noticed that she was fiddling with them. “Cassandra is right about the castle. We can’t storm it with six people.”

“There’s gotta be another way in,” Varric said thoughtfully. “I’ve yet to see the castle that only had one entrance.”

“You think we could sneak in?” she asked.

“Oh, sure,” he said. “I’ve done it before. It’s not as hard as it looks. It’s the getting out part that gets tricky.”

The bartender came over to her then, asking if he could get her anything. She shook her head with a tight-lipped smile, waiting until he walked away before speaking again. “Say we _were_ able to get in… what do you think we would find?”

“Mages,” the dwarf replied. “Lots and lots of mages.”

“We can fight mages; we’ve done it before. And it’s not as if they would all attack us at once. All we would need to do is find the leader, this Alexius,” Evelyn continued, a crude plan forming in her mind even as she spoke. “If we were able to capture him, perhaps we could force him into submission!”

He chuckled. “Easy there, Snaps,” he said. “There’s just the three of us, and we’re front-line warriors. We would have to be stealthy about this. That’ll be difficult enough, considering we don’t know the layout of the castle.” He paused. “We also need a way to sneak away from the Seeker. She’s not going to like this. Not one bit.”

“We can leave early in the morning,” she said quickly. “Before she wakes. We’ll slip out of the village unnoticed.”

“Sneaky,” Varric approved, giving her sidelong glance. “Maybe I should have named you Sneaks.”

“I’m not half as sneaky as you,” she said, grinning.

“Hey! I resemble that remark!”

“Ah-hem.”

Evelyn looked up at the bartender’s return. He wasn’t making eye contact with her, but his hand was outstretched, a small bit of paper just visible between his thumb and forefinger. Warily, she reached out and took it. No sooner had the page left his hand than the bartender walked away, grabbing several dirty glasses to cover his retreat.

“What’s that?” Varric murmured as she unfolded the note.

“I’m not sure. ‘You are in danger,’” she read, “‘Come to the Chantry. I can help.’” She looked over at the dwarf. “Is this real?”

“Can’t know for certain until we go check it out,” he replied. “We shouldn’t go alone though. Better to have as multiple people we trust.”

“Hawke will want to hear this,” she said, rising to her feet. “I think.”

“Oh, he will.” Varric downed the rest of his ale and then joined her, hefting Bianca into a more comfortable position on his back before heading towards the door. “Alright, Snaps,” he said. “Let’s go find Hawke.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some kissing! :)
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me up til this point. It's a bit of a slow burn, so I wanted to drag out the romance a bit, but it was high time for some action! Of course, a huge shout out to my beta, bushviper, for being awesome and amazing and making this story 10x better!


	14. Lavender Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn finds someone she does not expect in Redcliffe's Chantry, Solas has a plan for the rebel mages, and Hawke reveals an interesting bit about his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So sorry for the long delay! Work got crazy and I had to put writing on the back burner. But I should be out of this crazy stage by the end of February, so hopefully things will begin to taper off soon. I hope this chapter makes up for it!

“This seems… sketchy.”

Varric snorted. “Most of the stuff we’ve gotten into has started with something sketchy,” he reminded his friend.

Hawke looked back down at the note, studying it. Evelyn wasn’t sure what he was looking for; what else could he manage to glean from the brief sentence scribbled on the page? “We should go and see what’s going on,” she insisted, bouncing nervously from one foot to the other in anticipation.

He looked up at her, unconvinced. “What if it’s a trap?” he asked warily. “Did you see who wrote it?”

“Nah, the bartender handed it over,” Varric explained. “Rather furtively too – like he didn’t want anyone to see him giving it to us.”

“My suspicions deepen, Varric.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, Hawke. I’m just pointing out that this wouldn’t be the first time we went to investigate something odd.”

Evelyn eyed Hawke as he considered their proposition. They had found him by the docks, staring out at the water as the day’s last light painted brilliant colors upon its surface. Much of his anger seemed to have dissipated, a solemn resignation in its place. Still, they had approached him warily, unsure of his reaction to news of this latest development. He’d seemed eager enough at first, but now he seemed a bit more concerned.

Finally, the mage sighed, handing the note back to Evelyn. “I suppose we should check it out,” he said.

“That’s the Hawke I know,” Varric smirked. He hopped off the barrel he’d been sitting on and started down the main road. “C’mon – I think the Chantry’s this way.”

Evelyn and Hawke fell into step behind the dwarf as he led them through the city. There weren’t many people outside, despite the warmth of the night. It made Evelyn curious – why were they locked away in their homes? Again, she was struck by the oddness of Redcliffe. She hoped that whoever had written this note had some answers for them.

“You don’t seem very worried about this,” Hawke said suddenly, bumping his hand into hers to let her know he was addressing her.

She shrugged. “I guess I’m not,” she replied.

“Used to getting notes about clandestine meetings?” he asked. She looked up just in time to see him flash her a teasing grin.

“Not hardly,” she said, returning the smile. “I just want to know more about what’s happening here. This whole place seems… odd.”

“Agreed,” he said, nodding. “I don’t like it.”

“Do you think it has something to do with the mages?” she asked hesitantly, not wanting to reignite his anger.

“Perhaps.” His voice was surprisingly indifferent. “We won’t know for certain until we get to the Chantry.” He paused, turning to look at her. After a moment, he sighed. “I’m sorry for earlier,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have let my temper get the better of me.”

She frowned. There was no need for him to apologize – she understood his anger. More than that, she agreed with him. Cassandra wanted to return to Haven so that they could decide on a unanimous course of action, but Hawke wasn’t willing to wait when lives potentially hung in the balance. He wanted to act, and do something while they had the element of surprise on their side. That idea resonated with her, much more than the Seeker’s plan to retreat to Haven and plot their next move.

“I agree with you,” she replied. “I don’t want to go back to Haven and sit around while my brother and Cassandra decide what to do.”

“I still shouldn’t have stormed out of there,” Hawke concluded. “I should have tried to… reason with her.”

Ahead of them, Varric snorted. “You’d find an easier opponent in a wall of stone,” he said dryly.

They had reached the Chantry. The three of them stopped before the large wooden doors, looking amongst themselves as if to reassure each other that they were going to do this. Evelyn felt her heart beat a little quicker in her chest as they stepped towards the entrance. What would they find on the other side? It didn’t appear as if anything was out of ordinary, but she knew that looks could be deceiving.

Varric pushed the door open without so much as a sound, revealing a narrow entryway that led to the chapel proper. Another set of doors stood before them, candles along the walls illuminating the plush red carpet and yellow stone floors.

They paused at the sound of several muffled thumps.

“What was that?” Evelyn asked, half-reaching for her staff.

“Nothing good,” Varric muttered. He pulled his crossbow free, loading it with a bolt before taking another step.

Hawke sniffed the air and frowned. “Smell that?” he asked.

She nodded. “Magic.”

They rushed through the doors all at once, weapons brandished before them. Just ahead of them, a mage brought his staff down upon a shade’s face, the demon hissing in pain before vanishing back into the Fade. “Ah!” the mage cried upon seeing them. “You’re here!” He jerked back as the rift behind him crackled with new life. “Help me with this, would you?”

Battling the demons was quickly becoming familiar for Evelyn. She fell into a wide stance as the first line was thrown from the rift, summoning a barrier to protect herself as the demons righted themselves. She found that she could predict where they would move, which tactics they would attempt to use. They were all frighteningly similar, she’d discovered, with a singular purpose driving their actions.

She wove fire spells deftly at the creatures, instinct guiding her as much as observation. Beside her, Hawke did much the same with lightning, sparks dancing across his fingers as he swung his staff around. They worked well together, his spells immobilizing the creatures just long enough for her to blast them with flames.

“Nice shot!” he cried out when one of her fireballs hit one straight in the face.

Evelyn grinned. “Thanks,” she shot back, turning around to face the shades attempting to flank them. “You’re not so bad yourself!”

They quickly finished off the rest of the demons. Evelyn turned expectantly towards the rift, holding her hand out. The tear in the Veil crackled violently, the familiar burning sensation alighting in her palm. She grit her teeth as the magic surged through it, only relaxing once the process of sealing the rift was complete.

“So it’s true!”

She turned to the new mage. He was studying her with scholarly, appraising eyes, a slight smile quirking his lips. “You _can_ seal the rifts,” he remarked. “I wouldn’t have believed it possible, had I not seen it with my own eyes. Tell me, what sort of spell is it - a reversal of the normal force magic patterns? Or perhaps a -”

“I don’t know,” Evelyn quickly interjected. “I’m not sure what sort of magic it is, or how it works.”

“More’s the pity,” the mage replied. He strapped his staff behind his back and dusted flecks of ash from his white robes. “But we can discuss that later, when we’ve the time for such things.”

“Later?” Hawke asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You think there will be a later?”

The mage blinked. “Well, of course,” he said. “Seeing as how I am coming with you.”

“You’re what?” Evelyn asked sharply.

The mage looked between the two of them suspiciously. “You are the Inquisition, yes? I did not misplace my trust in that bartender?”

“Yes, we’re with the Inquisition,” Evelyn replied. “But why-”

“Splendid!” The mage clapped his hands together before moving into an elaborate bow. “Dorian Pavus, most recently of Minrathous!”

“You’re from Tevinter?” Hawke demanded. He eyed Dorian, instant dislike showing on his features. “What are you doing here?”

“Helping you,” was the succinct reply. He crossed his arms over his chest and began to pace back and forth. “This rift that was here just a moment ago – did you notice anything strange about it?”

“The circles,” Hawke said, nodding. “And the distortions.” Evelyn frowned. Distortions? She’d not noticed anything of the sort. She opened her mouth to ask Hawke what he meant, but Dorian was quicker.

“Precisely,” he said. “I’m glad you noticed – it would have been a real bugger to explain that.” He stopped his pacing, turning to face them. “It’s time magic.”

“That’s impossible,” Hawke said, his arms falling to his side as he openly stared at the other mage. Evelyn nodded in silent agreement. “No one can manipulate time.”

“It _was_ impossible,” Dorian objected. “You see, there’s always been a theory that time magic could work. But a few of the variables were off, so no one got it quite right. That is, until my mentor and I discovered what people had been doing wrong.”

“You… solved the riddle,” Varric guessed.

“We did! Oh, it was magnificent!” Dorian’s expression soured a bit. “But it quickly became apparent to us that the magic was wildly unstable. The magic seems to rip holes in the fabric of reality, literally tearing apart the Veil in the surrounding area. Alexius and I determined that we must not use it.”

“Then how do you explain the distortions in the rifts here in Redcliffe?” Evelyn demanded. 

Dorian snorted. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked. “One of us broke that promise.”

“But why?” Varric asked. “Why would Alexius do such a thing? I’m assuming you meant him, of course, and not yourself.”

The foreign mage turned, his face pensive. “Alexius has… changed,” he said slowly. “He is not the man he used to be. You saw his son, yes?” He looked back at them over his shoulder, but did not wait for an answer. “Felix. He recently survived a darkspawn attack that killed his mother, but it did not leave him unscathed. He is dying. In his grief, Alexius turned to a cult. Their leader seems to have promised to aid Felix in return for Alexius’ help.”

“A cult?” Evelyn asked.

“They call themselves the Venatori,” Dorian explained. “Highly nationalistic, Tevinter supremacists – they seem to believe that their leader, someone they refer to as the ‘Elder One’, will return the Empire to its former glory.” He shook his head. “They are nothing more than brutes, sowing chaos and dissension around the world in an attempt to weaken the other countries of Thedas. As if the world needed _another_ reason to hate Tevinter.”

“There’s plenty of reason to hate Tevinter,” Hawke said blithely.

“Just as there is plenty of reason to hate Kirkwall, am I right, _Champion_?” Hawke looked taken aback, and Dorian chuckled at his discomfiture. “Don’t think I didn’t recognize you! We do have books in the north, you know.”

Hawke groaned. “Murder me, Evelyn,” he muttered. “Please.”

“May I ask what you’re doing so far south?” Dorian asked, smirking. “This is a far ways from the Free Marches.”

“Helping,” Hawke retorted sullenly. “The same as you.”

“I see.” Dorian eyed him speculatively, his smirk growing exponentially as his gaze roved over Hawke’s frame. With a low chuckle, he turned his attention to Evelyn. “And who might you be, my dear?”

“Evelyn Trevelyan,” she replied.

“Trevelyan?” he repeated. “You don’t say!” He barked out a laugh. “What a coincidence! I had no idea that my sojourn to the south would bring me closer to _family_!”

Evelyn frowned, not having the faintest idea what the mage was talking about. “We’re… related?” she asked.

“Very, very distantly,” Dorian assured her. “And of course the only reason I know that at all is because obsessing over bloodlines is national pastime in Tevinter.” He chuckled. “You know, I think I see a resemblance between us, cousin!”

Perhaps – their hair was a similar shade of brown, and now that she thought of it, his bone structure did bear a striking resemblance to Ewan’s. She wasn’t sure what to make of this development; she’d never met anyone outside of her immediate family. The Trevelyan’s had wanted nothing to do with them, and her mother’s family was long gone. It made her suspicious – and very curious.

But now wasn’t the time for that.

“Going back to what you said earlier…,” she said, trying to redirect Dorian’s attention. “What is Alexius doing to help the Venatori? And why is he using time magic?”

Dorian’s mood instantly darkened. “The Elder One is attempting to create an army,” he replied. “An army of mages. It’s common knowledge in Tevinter that the southern mages finally rebelled against the Circles. Some of my fellows approve of their actions; a select few do not. What very few of them realized, however, was how very desperate the rebels have become.”

“Alexius convinced them to sell themselves into slavery, and now the Elder One gets his army,” Varric reasoned. He shook his head. “It’s genius.”

“And the time magic?” Hawke prompted.

“Alexius needed to get here quickly,” Dorian continued. “He traveled as fast as he could, but word got to him that he wasn’t going to arrive before you. Venatori spies are everywhere, you know.”

“Us?” Evelyn repeated.

“The Inquisition. Fiona was going to attempt to bargain with you, considering she hasn’t made any headway elsewhere. She was simply waiting for you to arrive.”

“And then Alexius arranged it so that he got there first,” Varric concluded.

“Precisely, Master – I beg your pardon, but I don’t think I caught your name!”

“Varric Tethras,” Varric supplied.

“You don’t say!” Dorian turned to Evelyn, smirking once more. “You keep quite the illustrious company, cousin!”

“Quit changing the subject,” Hawke snapped. “How are we to stop Alexius?”

Dorian looked at Varric. “Your book never mentioned that he was _snappish,_ ” he said flatly.

Varric shrugged. “I may have edited things a little bit.”

“How are we-”

“Yes, yes, I heard you!” Dorian interrupted Hawke’s terse question. “Alexius wants to meet with you, correct? He’s suggested that the Inquisition meet him in the castle?” Evelyn nodded, recalling their former conversation with the magister. “It is a trap. If you go in there, he will kill you all.”

“We figured as much,” Varric replied. “Invitations like that don’t exactly scream ‘come in for a good time’.”

“But if we can have Inquisition men infiltrate the castle, they can be there to support us when we confront Alexius!” Dorian continued. “We can arrest him and end this foolish scheme before it begins.”

“‘We?’” Hawke asked.

“Like I said,” Dorian replied, smiling. “I am coming with you.”

*

“So we’re going to fight a magister.”

Varric shrugged. “We’ve done worse,” he commented, taking a sip of his ale.

He had a point there. “He’ll have reinforcements,” Hawke continued. “This won’t be an easy job.”

“When is it ever easy?” Varric demanded.

“Well, there was that one time-”

“ _Hawke_.” It was a warning, and Hawke couldn’t help but grin.

“I was just saying.”

Varric rolled his eyes and turned to Evelyn, brooding silently over the cup of ale before it. The alcohol remained untouched, Hawke noted with a frown. Did she not like the taste of it? Perhaps he should have asked before ordering a round for their entire table.

“What do you think of the plan, Snaps?” the dwarf asked. “I imagine you’ll be on the front line.”

Evelyn blinked owlishly, not expecting the question. “It’s… I suppose it’s better than what we were thinking,” she said softly. “It gives us more time to plan things out in advance. But it gives them time to anticipate our moves as well. I don’t like that.”

Varric chuckled. “We may have been a bit hasty,” he allowed.

Hawke frowned. “What plan was this?” he asked.

Evelyn shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “We… had discussed sneaking into the castle in an attempt to free the mages,” she admitted.

“… just you and Varric?”

“And you.”

“Bold.” He had to fight to keep a straight face. “Very bold.”

“It was stupid,” she snapped, scowling down at her drink. “I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to help, to do _something._ ”

“So you planned to storm the castle?”

Her ire moved from the flagon before her to him. “I never said it would have worked,” she retorted.

“No, no, I like it!” he said quickly. “It’s what I would have done!”

“That isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement,” Varric muttered.

Hawke scowled at his friend. “I seem to recall her referring to this as _your_ plan, Varric, as in the both of you came up with it,” he said.

Varric merely shrugged in response. “It wouldn’t be the first time I let myself get roped into something I shouldn’t have.” He downed the rest of his ale and stood. “I’m calling it a night. Don’t stay up too late, you two.” Before either of them could get a word in edgewise, he turned and left, returning to the rooms they’d rented for the night.

“Typical,” Hawke muttered. “Forever running away before you can speak ill of him.”

“It was mostly my plan,” Evelyn said quietly. “I half-believe he was just humoring me.”

“Maybe,” he said. “It’s hard to know what’s he thinking. I’ve never been good at reading him.” He paused, and then shrugged. “Then again, I’m not very good at reading people in general, so I’m not sure that’s the best excuse.”

Evelyn snorted, but said nothing. She raised the tankard before her to her lips instead, hesitating a moment before taking a cautious sip. Instantly, her expression soured, and set the glass down, pushing it away from her.

“Not to your liking?” Hawke guessed.

“Not at all,” she said. “How do you drink that? It’s foul!”

He hugged his half-empty flagon protectively, as if to shield it from her words. “Shhh!” he hissed. “It can hear you!”

She rolled her eyes. “Good,” she snapped. “Let it know how much I detest it.”

“You’re a cruel woman, Evelyn Trevelyan.”

“Since when is it _cruel_ to have taste?”

“You wound me!” he cried, clutching his free hand to his heart.

She shot him a flat look. “Is it fatal?”

“Quite,” he replied. Thinking of something, he grinned. “But I know a way you can make it better.”

One of her eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. “Oh? And how’s that?”

“I hear kisses are miraculous at tending wounded pride.”

The other eyebrow rose to join the first, giving her a look of surprise that was completely endearing. “Here?” she asked. “In front of everyone?”

“Would you prefer that we take this somewhere else?”

She nodded.

Hawke grinned at her and rose, holding out his hand. “Then by all means,” he murmured, pulling her out of her seat and into his side. “Let us leave.”

*

“Might I have a moment?”

Evelyn looked up in surprise. It wasn’t every day that Solas approached her to talk; he was normally quite aloof, preferring to listen and offer sparse commentary instead of actively engage in their group’s conversations. As a result, she knew almost nothing about him, as he knew very little of her.

“Of course,” she replied, falling back to keep pace with him.

“I have been giving the situation with the mages a great deal of thought,” he continued.

“As have I,” she replied. She’d been able to think of little else since they’d begun the journey back to Haven. Her head was swimming, wondering if Dorian’s plan would be enough to save them and fretting over how to convince Edric of their need. A few times, she’d had to force herself to stop and think about something else entirely to forestall a headache.

“I trust that you wish to end their servitude,” the elf said lightly, looking at her from the corner of his eye.

She scowled. “You know I do,” she snapped. “What Alexius is doing is wrong.”

He ignored her ire. “Then I believe that I may have a powerful argument to present to your brother to convince him that we should help them.”

“And what is that?”

“The Breach,” he said simply.

She drew up sharply, trying to follow his thoughts. “What do you mean?” she asked slowly.

“Although it appears quite menacing, it is in actuality nothing more than a giant rift,” Solas explained. She fell into step beside him once more as he continued. “You could likely seal it with the mark, if you had enough magic. However, no one person possesses that amount of power, and having that amount of energy course through your body with no support would likely kill you.”

“But mages can help each other,” Evelyn replied, catching on to his idea. “If we were to save the mages, we could ask them to help us seal the Breach.”

“In theory, of course,” he said quickly. “There is a chance that this will not work. But I have reason to believe it will.” He paused, giving her a cautious look. “The process of sealing such a large rift will likely be painful. Perhaps even excruciating.”

“And let me guess – there’s a chance I won’t survive?”

“A chance,” he said, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a rare smirk at her candor. “But nothing we have done in the past few weeks has been without risk.”

They walked in silence for a moment, and she continued to mull over his words. If he was right… the implications could be huge.

Edric was a logical man. He was calculated, making decisions based on whatever evidence he managed to compile. Their father had always said that he would have made a good scholar, perhaps a Chantry historian, but Edric had vehemently protested that his only place was with the Templars. And perhaps that was why he was a good Templar – he was not rash, and he did not jump to conclusions.

Still, he would be wary of the mages. They had rebelled against the Circles, after all, and Fiona had been unable to contain some of the more violent elements from escaping and ransacking Ferelden. Why would he believe that Fiona could bring the remaining mages to heel at their side?

The argument that no one deserved to be a slave was compelling. The argument that it would be very dangerous for Tevinter, a land ruled by magisters, to commandeer slaves possessing magic was also strong. But if the mages could seal the Breach… Solas was correct when he said his idea was powerful.

“Tell me, Herald,” Solas said suddenly. “What do you think of the Circles?”

Evelyn peered at him speculatively, his sudden sociability once again arousing her curiosity. “I’ve never been to one myself,” she replied, “but they don’t seem like very happy places.”

He chuckled. “No,” he agreed. “They do not.”

“Why do you ask? The elves don’t generally go to Circles.”

“The Dalish do not, no,” he said. “Not unless they are captured. But magic has not been viewed as a curse by my people, as it has been by yours.”

“I don’t think it’s a curse,” Evelyn said. “How could it be?”

“People fear things they cannot explain,” Solas said lightly. “And magic can be a terrible, frightening thing. In the hands of the wrong people, it can be devastating. That is what Templars see when they look at mages – a fatal potentiality that may or may not happen. It is why they are so cautious – and so impulsive.”

“You don’t like Templars,” she guessed.

“I have run into those of a hostile nature more times than I would like,” he said, nodding. “But I am nothing if not good at getting out of trouble.”

“I’d imagine.” She decided to take a chance then and see if Solas would open up to her some more. This was the first time he’d really approached her; perhaps it meant that he was beginning to trust her. “Have you always traveled on your own, Solas?”

“No,” he replied shortly. She hesitated, thinking that perhaps she’d gone too far, but then he continued, launching into a more elaborate answer. “I had family once. I used to live with them quite happily.”

“Did something happen?”

“People change,” the elf said, shrugging. “Not everyone is who they seem to be. I have been on my own for quite some time now.”

“Do you ever get lonely?”

“Lonely?” He turned to look at her. “Not at all! I have a great many friends from my travels into the Fade. Spirits of compassion, wisdom, faith… it is amazing how much they are willing to share with mages if only one takes the time to speak with them.”

“I have never met a spirit,” Evelyn admitted. “My mother promised to teach me to call upon them when I was older and had a better grasp of my abilities, but…” She shook her head. “Her heart started to weaken; anything more than mending a broken bone is beyond her abilities now.”  

“I am sorry to hear that,” Solas said earnestly. “It was she who taught you magic?”

“In secret,” she replied, nodding. “Often in the dead of night, away from everyone else. She refused to send me to a Circle, even though Ostwick had a good reputation.”

“Then you have been an apostate your entire life as well,” he remarked. He chuckled. “It seems we are not so different, Herald.”

“Please, call me Evelyn. ‘Herald’ makes me greatly uncomfortable.”

“You do not think you are the Maker’s chosen?”

“I don’t think the Maker even exists,” she said flatly. “So to agree that I’m his Herald just seems incredibly stupid, don’t you think?”

He appeared amused by that. “Indeed. You are not what I expected, Evelyn. I am… pleasantly surprised.”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know that I had any one specific expectation,” he clarified. “I was guardedly optimistic when I met your brother and heard of your background. I had hoped that perhaps we would agree on more points than we disagree. Not only that, but you have shown an interest in those people that many would overlook – the broken, the hurting, the victims. That is no small thing.” He shot her a meaningful look. “I am pleased to discover my faith was not misplaced.”

“So I’ve met your expectations then?” she asked.

“You have surpassed them. And I believe you will continue to surpass them in the days to come.”

From a man of such few words, it was high praise. Evelyn found herself touched by Solas’ gentle approval of her actions. “Thank you, Solas,” she said, smiling. “That… I’m glad you think that.”

“It is not just I,” he replied. “All of us here see the importance of what you have done.”

“Now you’re just flattering me,” she said, her smile morphing into a smirk.

He chuckled. “I am entirely sincere,” he disagreed. “I think Hawke might have some harsh words for me were that the case, though.”

“You think?”

“I have seen the way that he looks at you,” Solas said, smiling knowingly at her. “And I know what it is to be in –”

“Evelyn!”

Cassandra’s sharp cry broke through the air then. Evelyn’s head jerked back to the front; the Seeker was beckoning her forward, pointing at something in the valley below. “We have discovered a rift!” she cried.

Evelyn turned towards Solas apologetically. “There’s no rest for the wicked, is there?”

He chuckled. “None at all.”

They took care of the rift quickly, dispatching the demons with ease. As they regrouped after the battle, Cassandra announced that it would be a good time to stop for the evening. Evelyn quickly agreed; the last light of day was fading, and they didn’t want to be traveling the wilderness after dark. It was a good location as well – a small pond was a ways off to the east, and the trees were thick enough to provide some protection from the wind.

They broke off into pairs to set up the camp. Evelyn found herself gathering firewood with Solas while Hawke and Blackwall set up their tents. They worked quickly, eager to be off their feet after a long day of traveling. In her haste, she’d failed to notice that Cassandra was nowhere to be seen. When she asked Varric, he merely shrugged.

“I didn’t see her leave,” he said, quickly adding wood to the fire Dorian had lit. “Did she go off alone?”

“Perhaps she went hunting,” Blackwall suggested as he and Hawke joined them by the fire.

Varric snorted. “I’ve never seen anyone hunt with a sword,” he said lightly. “But if anyone could do it… it’d be her.” 

“Hunting with a sword?” Dorian asked. “How… rustic. Is that normal here in the south?”

Their voices faded as Evelyn walked away from camp, peering about for some glimpse of the Seeker. She frowned when she couldn’t find a trace of the other woman; she had been hoping to get a good bath in the pond, but if Cassandra wasn’t here... She didn’t think it wise to go by herself. Surely wild animals also used the pond, and she didn’t relish the thought of having to fight a predator off. Particularly if she were naked.

She turned as someone touched her arm, not surprised to see that Hawke had followed her away from the others. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “I’m sure Cassandra will be alright - the woman looks like she could fight a bear all on her own and come out fresh as a daisy.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not that,” she replied. “I was just hoping to get a bath tonight.”

“Ah.” He paused, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Well, if you wanted… I could always go with you.”

The surge of heat that shot through her was almost enough to make her stagger. As it was, she jerked away from him in surprise. _Is he…?_ She forced the half-nervous, half-lusty thought from her mind. _No. It’s much too soon for him to suggest that._

“I wouldn’t watch!” he said quickly. “I’d keep my back turned!”

“You… wouldn’t look?”

“Well, I’d want to,” he said bluntly. “But of course I wouldn’t! No! I would just be there in case something happened – if you slipped on a rock!”

She snorted. “I’m more concerned about wolves than rocks.”

“Yes, wolves too. Much more dangerous than rocks.”

She eyed him cautiously for a moment. “You had better not peek,” she warned.

“I would never.”

Before she could think better of it, she went to her saddlebags to retrieve her the cleaning cloth and bar of soap that she’d bought in Redcliffe. She hadn’t had much of a chance to use it since leaving the village. The river they’d followed out of the Hinterlands had been moving too swiftly for bathing. Tonight, however, she had access to a pond, and she was looking forward to scrubbing the dirt from her skin.

She clutched the small bag containing her sundries to her chest as they walked away from camp, her nerves thrumming beneath her skin. She trusted Hawke completely, of course – he wasn’t the type to take advantage of a woman. And she wasn’t _opposed_ to the thought of him seeing her bare. A part of her very much wanted him to see her unclothed form, desired it even. But a larger, more cautious part of her wasn’t sure that she was ready for that level of vulnerability yet.

She sped up a little as they neared the pond, almost matching the pace of her thudding heart. A few large rocks perched on this side of the pond, water gently lapping at their bases; she placed her bag on one of these, where it would be within arm’s reach.

Evelyn turned around slowly then, uncertain of how to proceed. To her surprise, Hawke had already turned his back on her. Instantly, a sense of relief washed over her, and she quickly stripped out of her clothes, laying them on another rock that sat a little further back from the shore.

The water was cool against her skin as she waded out into the pond, the ground squishy rather than rocky. It was refreshing after so long on the road, and she happily swam out into deeper waters before ducking underneath the surface to wet her hair. _This is nice,_ she thought contentedly, running her fingers through the strands to help rid them of grime and dirt. _How long has it been since any of us took a proper bath?_

She emerged from the water with a gasp, bringing a hand up to slick her hair back.

“Having fun?”

Evelyn turned back to where Hawke was standing. He still had his back turned towards her, though he’d cocked his head a bit so that he could hear her better. “Loads,” she shot back, swimming back towards the shore for her soap.

The chill night air seemed even cooler when she left the water, her skin quickly breaking out in gooseflesh. She quickly worked the soap into a lather, the fragrance of lavender filling her nostrils.

“Lavender,” Hawke said softly.

Evelyn paused. “Is it too strong?” she asked. She’d always liked heady, floral scents, but she knew that to some, they were overpowering. Her mother hadn’t been able to stand them, to the point that she’d not even allowed fresh flowers in their house.

“That’s not it,” he replied. “It’s just familiar.”

“Is that bad?” she asked, running the soap up into her hair and scrubbing at her scalp.

He chuckled. “Not at all,” he said.

Finished with the soap, she laid it back upon the rock and waded out until the water was deep enough that she could submerge herself. She stayed under for as long as her lungs could take it, running her hands over her body to rid it of the soap.

“I’m finished,” she announced once she’d resurfaced. “Just let me dry off.” He waved to acknowledge that he’d heard her, and she made for the rocks once again, this time grabbing the cloth to help dry her skin. She worked quickly to avoid being in the cold longer than was necessary, managing to shrug back into her clothes in only a few moments.

She walked over to Hawke then, putting a hand on his arm to let him know that she was finished. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I needed that.”

“Of course,” he said, smiling. He looked back to the pond, eyeing it. “How was the water?”

“Cool, but clean,” she replied.

He turned back to her, a grin on his face. “Mind if I take a dip?”

She shook her head; it was the least she could do, after all. She certainly didn’t mind repaying a favor.

“I’ll be quick,” he said quickly, removing his staff from his back and setting it on the ground before he began unbuckling his armor. Evelyn flushed at how quickly he revealed himself, turning her head to give him privacy. She just barely caught the grin he sent her. “ _No peeking,_ Evelyn.”

“I’m not peeking!” she snapped, turning away even more.

He chuckled. “I’m just teasing,” he said. “I don’t mind if you peek.”

She snapped back around to look at him. “Wha-?” Her face burned when she realized that he was already naked, the muscles in his back rippling as he jogged towards the shore. She had to peel her eyes away from the sight, lest she be caught ogling his backside - she would never hear the end of it. “Idiot.”

He made a hearty splash at her remark. “I heard that!”

“You were meant to!”

True to his word, Hawke bathed quickly, taking only a few moments to clean himself before returning to shore and shrugging back into his clothes. He left his armor aside for the moment, taking a seat on the grass and motioning for her to sit beside him. He’d not brought a cloth to dry himself off with, she noticed. It was making his shirt stick to his skin, revealing all of the musculature beneath. She swallowed to ease the sudden dryness in her throat, forcing herself to look at his face and not his chest.

He was smirking at her. “See something you like?” he asked.

_Very much so._

“You’re going to catch a cold,” she said instead.

He snorted. “I’m Fereldan, Evelyn, we don’t catch colds. Besides,” he said, shuffling closer to her and drawing her into his arms. “I have you to keep me warm!”

She made a rather indignant noise as she attempted to push his wet form away. “Have you seen how small I am?” she demanded. “I can barely keep myself warm, let alone you! And you’re _wet_!”

“I am, at most, a _little_ damp,” he protested.

“A _little_?” she spluttered. “You’re soaking!”

“I’m getting the sense that you aren’t appreciating this hug.”

“What clued you in?”

With a dramatic sigh, he released her. “The sting of rejection is fierce,” he lamented.

Evelyn rolled her eyes, grimacing at the damp spots on her shirt. Thankfully, there weren’t too many; they would dry within moments. “It’s not rejection,” she muttered. “I like hugging you. I _don’t_ like being in wet clothing.”

“I suppose that’s sensible,” he allowed, “considering you don’t have my Fereldan immunity to the cold. You might get sick running around in wet trousers.”

“It would just be my luck.”

A moment of silence passed between them, and Evelyn took the opportunity to bask in the peaceful night air. The first moon was almost full, hanging directly overhead and bathing them in a clean, pure light. The second was just visible over the horizon as it began its nightly course across the skies. All around them, she could hear the comforting sounds of the forest’s night life awakening – owls, bats, nocturnal insects. The noises had become familiar to her over the past few weeks. She feared she would miss them when they returned to Haven and were once again surrounded by rock and snow.

“You smell nice.”

She looked up Hawke; he was staring off into the distance, his brows drawn down over his eyes in thought. “Lavender is familiar, you mentioned,” she said lightly.

“It is,” he replied. “A woman I used to know wore it. She always dabbed lavender oil just behind her ears and under her nose – she said it was to keep the stink of Kirkwall away.”

Evelyn frowned. “Did it work?” she asked curiously.

He shrugged. “I never asked,” he said. “But I doubt it. Kirkwall was rather smelly – especially the parts she visited.”

“What parts were those?”

“Darktown, mostly,” he said. “Not a very nice place. Many of the people there are destitute, and crime is rampant.” He snorted, and gave her a half-grin. “It’s where I found Anders running his clinic.”

“Why did she go there?”

“She was a member of the City Guard, once. Part of a special team that cared enough to police the districts the other guards wouldn’t dare to touch. She liking helping people – it’s what brought her to me. After I’d been in the city a while, I became someone other people went to for help. It didn’t matter what they needed – I was the one they called upon. So, one day, out of the blue, she approached me. She was this tiny slip of a person, but solid as a rock. She demanded that I help her clear out a gang that had set up shop in one of Darktown’s more populated areas.”

“Did you?”

He snorted. “I dared not refuse her!” he exclaimed. “She wasn’t the type to be denied.”

A pang of jealousy hit Evelyn then. She found herself disliking this woman Hawke knew, despite knowing so little about her. “You sound… fond of her,” she said slowly.

“I was, once,” he said simply, turning to face her. “But things… ended badly between us. We had a falling out. There was a lot of yelling, and throwing things… I believe she also called me a ‘deplorable miscreant’.” He shrugged. “Perhaps not far from the truth, but hard to hear, especially from someone you care about.”

“She’s clearly a terrible judge of character,” Evelyn sniffed, her opinion of the woman souring even further.

Hawke chuckled at that. “Or maybe I am,” he said. His grin disappeared then. “She joined the Templars shortly after that. It was perhaps a year before the Circle rebelled and took out the Order. She didn’t survive.”

“I’m sorry, Hawke.”

He turned to look at, surprising her with a soft smile. “She hated mages,” he said. “She told me that, at the very end - thought we should all we chained up and collared like dogs. I always told myself that she had been corrupted, that Meredith had gotten to her. But you know what? I’m honestly not sure if that was the case. I thought about it for many long nights. Did she like me for me? Or did she want to make use of my talents? Was I merely a means to an end?” 

“If that’s all she wanted from you, then she’s an idiot,” Evelyn said swiftly. “People like that aren’t worth your time.” 

He nodded. “I’ve had to learn that the hard way, but yes, you’re right.”

“Did you…” She paused, hoping that she wasn’t being too invasive for asking her next question. “Did you have… feelings for her?”

“I thought I did,” he said simply. “But I could never love someone who thought such an integral part of me was inherently evil. I never even spoke to her again. And she never apologized.” After a moment’s tense silence, he chuckled. “And as is common in my tragic love life, _things fell apart._ ” He turned to her, clearly attempting to lighten the mood. “What about you?” 

“Me?” she repeated, unsure what he asking.

“Yes, you,” he said, poking her side. “Broken any hearts in your village? You’re certainly pretty enough to break my heart.”

She swatted away his hand. “I’ve never been in love with anyone,” she admitted. “I never let myself get close to anyone, just in case… well, I needed to protect myself. That doesn’t mean I’ve no experience,” she added quickly.

“You’re far too good a kisser to have no experience,” he replied, winking at her.

She grinned. “Am I now?”

He leaned in swiftly, pressing his lips to her in a quick, but passionate kiss. “You’re very good,” he murmured against her lips. 

She shivered. “I think you’re more likely to break hearts than I,” she said.

“I have done nothing of the sort!” he said indignantly, pulling back a little bit.

“You flirt with everyone,” she teased. “Maybe someone fell in love with you and never told you." 

“I certainly hope not,” he replied, looking rather dismayed. “I wouldn’t want them to keep that from me.”

“I wouldn’t either,” Evelyn admitted. “Perhaps they didn’t think you’d return their feelings. Of course, things might not have been very serious for them.” 

“Hmm.” He looked to be deep in thought, one of his hands coming up to rub at his jaw. For several moments, he was silent, pondering something. Evelyn waited patiently, her stomach fluttering nervously the longer he went without speaking.

Finally, he looked back up to her, his pensiveness replaced by curiosity. “What about you?” he asked. She blinked owlishly at the question, so he added, “And me, that is. Us. The two of us. Together. Is that serious?”

“Of course,” she said, unthinkingly, not even having to consider it. She paused, wondering if perhaps that hadn’t been the best thing to assert. She looked up at him cautiously. “Is it… for you?”

The look of relief on his face was immensely gratifying. “Most definitely,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her again. “I like you very much, Evelyn Trevelyan.” Once more, he pressed his mouth to hers, pulling her lower lip between his teeth just before he pulled away again. “I like you, and _only_ you. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.” He sent her entreating look, and she had to laugh.

“I don’t know about that,” she giggled. “You’ll have to convince me.”

A low noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl came from his throat then, sending a stab of heat straight through her core. Before she could react, however, he’d moved so that he was atop her, her back against the ground. His face was mere inches from hers, his brown eyes desirous. “Is that a challenge?” he murmured, his hands moving to ever so slightly graze her sides.

“What if it is?” she dared, jutting her chin up.

“You should know that I always play to win,” he said.

She grinned, lifting her head so that her lips brushed against his as she spoke. “So do I,” she retorted, speaking in the most seductive voice she could produce. “Your move, Hawke.”

“Challenge accepted.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) 
> 
> As always, feedback is much appreciated! Thanks again to bushviper for beta-ing this <3 She's the best!


	15. A Parting of Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edric debates whether to help the Templars or the mages, and finds that Evelyn has a very different opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! It has been FAR too long since I updated this. I sincerely apologize! On the bright side, I have now finished most of the hectic work of February, and am moving on to more peaceful days, so hopefully I'll have more time and motivation to work on this!
> 
> A big thanks to my pal bushviper for beta-ing this so quickly! <3

“Therinfal Redoubt? You are sure?”

Leliana nodded. “I am certain,” she replied. “That is where Lucius has taken the Templars.”

“But _why_?” Edric bent over the table, putting a hand atop either side of the map that lay on its surface. He peered down at Ferelden, intent upon a small marker that signified the abandoned castle. “Why would he retreat to Therinfal? It’s been abandoned for decades!”

“I do not know,” the spymaster remarked. “Perhaps he wishes to hide?”

He snorted. “If worse comes to worst, the strongest keep in Thedas will not protect him from the Breach.”

Leliana ignored him, turning to Josephine. “Josie, what are the surrounding nobles saying? Surely they have noticed that the fortress has been reclaimed.”

“Indeed,” the ambassador said, flipping to a certain page in the notes that she carried with her at all times. “Several nobles families have taken note of the occurrence. They are finding it… most unusual. Most are just curious, but a few have expressed anger that the castle was taken without their consent.” She looked up. “I suspect that we may be able to use that resentment to our advantage.”

“Anger?” Edric asked. “Do any of them have a claim to the land?”

“No,” Josephine replied, shaking her head. “But that is precisely the issue. When the castle was abandoned, the surrounding nobility spent many weeks debating who would receive the land. But they were unable to come to a consensus; finally, they agreed that no one should receive the castle - it would remain abandoned. So long as it has remained empty, no one has had a cause to complain about it.”

“And now that someone has retaken it, they believe someone may have broken this agreement,” Leliana guessed.

“Precisely,” the Antivan said, nodding.

“What do you have planned?”

“I will write to these families, explaining what the Lord Seeker has done,” Josephine continued. “I will heavily emphasize that this is unlawful, not to mention highly irresponsible, behavior. Hopefully, I can then convince them to form a coalition to confront Lucius and evict him from the fortress. He will not be able to ignore all of the local nobility _and_ the Inquisition rising up against him.”

“It is a bold move,” Leliana murmured. “But perhaps our only option. I have studied what old maps of the fortress that I have found. It is almost impregnable - there are very few weak points.”

“So we can’t force our way in,” Edric surmised.

“Nor would we want to,” the redhead nodded.

Josephine’s plan could work, he guessed. Lucius may have been irresponsible, but he wasn’t an idiot. If a large group of nobility came to his doorstep… well, he would have forced to listen. He only had a limited number of Templars, after all, nor would he dare attack a group of civilians. Surely he wasn’t that far gone.

“Write up the letters,” he said, standing up to his full height.

Josephine nodded and scribbled down an impossibly fast note on the paper before her. “I will see to it as quickly as possible,” she murmured.

“What sort of group should we present to Lucius?” he asked.

“You, most certainly,” the diplomat replied. “You have been instrumental in our success, Edric, and I do believe people are starting to see you as the Inquisition’s figurehead, especially after the incident in Val Royeaux.” She paused, shooting him a flirtatious smile. “You are also a rather imposing figure, with your height and stature. You must be the one to confront him.”

Leliana chuckled at his surprise. “Do not look so surprised, Edric,” she said teasingly. “Surely you know you are the joy of Haven’s gossip mills.”

“ _What_ _?_ What are people saying?”

“Nothing bad, of course!” Josephine said quickly, hiding her growing smile behind a hand. “It is all very… flattering.”

A part of him was pleased at the admission. What man didn’t want to know that others thought highly of him? But he hardly thought now was the time to be discussing such matters - they were in a council meeting! He cleared his throat impatiently. “So I will lead the men to Therinfal,” he said. “Will you two also be accompanying us?”

“I will go,” Josephine said, still grinning at him. “That way I can ease any tensions the nobility might have, and spread our cause in a manner that most intrigues them.”

Edric nodded and turned to Leliana.

“I must stay here,” she replied, clasping her hands behind her back. “I am afraid that my talents would not be of much use.”

He didn’t believe that for a second - he had seen Leliana fight firsthand. She moved like a snake, smooth and deadly, taking her time to line up a kill before striking out like a whip. Accompanied with her uncanny ability to keep herself hidden, he could think of no scenario where her presence wouldn’t be helpful. Still, he wasn’t going to force the matter, and it was good that one of them stayed behind.

“Seeker Pentaghast should accompany you as well,” Josephine continued. “Perhaps we can set her up as a counter to Lucius - the dutiful Seeker versus the renegade.”

“Their party should be returning from the Hinterlands within the week,” Leliana agreed.

Edric nodded, again seeing the logic of their arguments. “What about the Commander?” he asked. Perhaps it would be good for the Templars under Lucius to see that multiple Templars had joined the Inquisition - it would be proof that their cause was worth fighting for. He doubted that his presence alone would be enough to sway them.

“I would not advise it,” Leliana said after a moment’s pause.

He frowned at the cautious notes in her voice. “Why?”

She hesitated, and then drew something from one of her many pockets. It was a small velvet bag, drawstrings cinched tight. She pulled these apart and upended the contents onto her gloved hand. Something small and red fell into her palm.

_Red lyrium._

Edric took a step back, the mineral’s siren song instantly attacking his mind. It was impossible to ignore, and hauntingly beautiful. But there was an edge to it, a harsh note that indicated danger. “Where did you get that?” he asked thickly, refusing to breathe through his nose lest he catch the tainted substance’s scent. They had destroyed what red lyrium they had found at the Temple’s ruins. Leliana had to have gotten it somewhere else.

“One of my scouts discovered a shipment being taken to Therinfal Redoubt,” she admitted, forcing the shard back into the bag. Edric almost sighed in relief, just barely catching himself. “Several carts of red lyrium, being taken into a back entrance in the dead of night.”

“What is Lucius doing with red lyrium?” Josephine asked curiously. “It is dangerous, yes?”

“Extremely,” Edric replied. A possibility struck him then, so revolting it made him lurch forward. No, it wasn’t possible - not even he would do such a thing! But in light of all that had happened… he looked up at Leliana, and saw the same deeply disturbed look in her blue eyes. “He wouldn’t…” He couldn’t force himself to speak such a thing.

“I do not know,” she replied. “I have had no word of Templars ingesting the tainted lyrium. However, given Cullen’s… situation, I do not think it wise that he be exposed to such a large quantity of it.”

The situation. She meant Cullen’s abstinence. He nodded in understanding. Yes, it would be better that the Commander stay here; the temptation might prove too great, even for as a will as strong as Cullen’s.

His disgust was quickly replaced by anger, and a sense of urgency. They had to get to Therinfal as soon as they could. Lucius might not have given his soldiers red lyrium yet, but he was not willing to risk the lives of hundreds of men and women to a madman. “Let us hope Cassandra returns soon,” he murmured.

“Speaking of Cassandra,” Josephine said suddenly, catching his and Leliana’s attention. “Her latest report is most intriguing.”

Edric frowned. When had she sent a report in? He didn’t recall reading anything of the sort, and he would have, had he seen it. He always made a point to read Cassandra’s reports, favoring her brutal honesty and tactical perspective.

“Ah, yes, the mages in Redcliffe,” Leliana replied.

“Which mages are these?”

Leliana raised an eyebrow at his ignorance. “You did not read her report,” she mused.

“I didn’t _get_ her report,” he retorted. There _was_ a difference. “What did it say?”

“The rebel mages have taken refuge in Redcliffe,” the spymaster continued. “If Cassandra’s information is correct, their leader, Fiona, was attempting to get in contact with the Inquisition when she was set upon by a group of men from Tevinter.”

He had a bad feeling about this. “Tevinter?” he asked slowly, uncrossing his arms.

“Their arrival was… most timely. And their leader, a magister, made her an offer that she could not refuse,” the redhead murmured. “Protection, in exchange for servitude. It seems she was not in a position to decline.”

Edric snorted derisively. “Her position was so precarious that she _sold_ herself in slavery?” he demanded. “I highly doubt that, Leliana.”

Leliana arched her brows at him. “Think carefully, Edric,” she said, voice notably coolly than it had been a moment again. “These are mages who have been treated like criminals for being nothing other than what they are. When they finally found the courage to speak out against injustice, they were condemned. Their allies have been few and far between. They have had their backs against the wall for years now. This cannot have been an easy decision for Fiona.”

“That doesn’t make it any less asinine,” he said stubbornly.

Her blue gaze was like ice. “Cassandra said much the same,” she murmured. “You two are more alike than you realize.”

“Alright, you two,” Josephine interjected, disapproving. She looked from one to the other, and then shook her head. “We can debate ethics at a later time. For now, however, I have another important piece to add to this puzzle.” She held up a note. “A missive from King Alistair and Queen Anora.”

“Oh?” Leliana’s interest was piqued, and she leaned forward to grab the letter. Her eyes scanned it briefly before she chuckled. “Oh, Alistair,” she murmured, smiling fondly. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“What does it say?” Edric asked.

“The King and Queen are no happier about this development than we are,” Josephine explained. “Although their Majesties have given them leave to enter Ferelden, a large group of mages gathered together in one spot is enough to make any ruler nervous, and adding Tevinter magisters to the situation only heightens their sense of alarm. I believe they have gotten more than they bargained for - as such, they have asked for our help in this delicate situation.”

“Our help?” he asked, blinking. “What does His Majesty expect us to do with them, exactly?”

Josephine shrugged. “He… did not say,” she admitted.

“And he’s not equipped to deal with this problem on his own?” he pressed. “What of the Arl? Where is he in all of this?”

“Teagan has retreated to Denerim,” Leliana replied. “Apparently, he was evicted.”

“... how does one get evicted from one’s own castle?” Edric asked flatly.

“I suspect that he did not want to deal with the potential repercussions,” she continued. “It is easier to flee and let the King settle things.”

He snorted again and shook his head.

“Shall I reply and let their Majesties know that aid is forthcoming?” Josephine prompted when silence fell over their group.

Edric hesitated, as did Leliana. “If we aid the mages, can we still make it to Therinfal in time?” he asked slowly.

“I doubt it,” the redhead replied. “Dealing with the magister will not be easy. He has already settled into the area.”

“We’ll have to fight him,” he guessed.

“To be fair, we will likely have to fight Lucius as well.”

“But we cannot fight them both.”

“No,” she agreed. “We cannot.”

It was a terrible dilemma they now faced. The Inquisition hadn’t the time or the resources to help both groups, requiring them to choose one over the other. Should they attempt to save the people who could provide them the most aid in the future? The tacit assumption was that both were willing to fight alongside the Inquisition at all, which wasn’t necessarily the case. The mages could very well flee to another country, and the Templars might simply elect a new leader. It was problematic no matter which way he looked at it.

Ignoring the possibility of the others rejecting the proposal for an alliance outright, he considered the two options. The mages were strong, capable of both defensive and offensive positions in any future fight. But they were also rebels, and the people of Thedas largely mistrusted them. The Templars, on the other hand, were strong protection against enemy magic, and stalwart soldiers. Though they were more esteemed in the eyes of the public, they were also rife with corruption and required access to an amount of lyrium that would strain even their growing resources.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers in a sorry attempt to forestall a headache. “What do you suggest?” he asked, looking up at the two women.

“The mages would be powerful allies,” Leliana replied. “Allow them the chance to ally with the Inquisition, and I believe they would whole-heartedly aid us in restoring peace to Thedas.”

“Such a move would… disrupt the balance of power across Thedas,” Josephine added. “Many of the more conservative noble families would disapprove.”

“Enough that they would recall their aid?”

“I… cannot say for certain.”

“The Templars would be strong allies as well,” Edric reminded the two of them.

“Perhaps,” Leliana allowed. “On the other hand, if we do not help the Templars, it appears that Lucius will keep them locked away, out of the conflict. If we do not help the mages, however, I have no way of knowing what they will do next. What will their new overlords command of them?”

“Tevinter would not dare,” he snapped, frowning.

“Tevinter has _always_ dared,” Josephine disagreed. “The Magesterium is highly opportunistic, and do not think for a moment that they have not noticed the instability the mage rebellion has caused.”

“You think this magister would order them to attack Ferelden?"

The spymaster shrugged. “As I said, Edric, I do not know,” she replied. “Not yet. It takes time for me to gather information.”

Both of them clearly favored the mages. That irritated him more than it should have. He could see the logic in their arguments, and he did truly want to help the mages. But they were so quick to write off Lucius’ actions! Surely they could see that the potential consequences of Thedas’ Templars ingesting red lyrium were just as disastrous?

Josephine must have sensed his hesitation. “We do not have to come to a decision just yet,” she said slowly. “We have some time. Until the party from the Hinterlands returns, we cannot make a move.”

“I would also like to debate this when all of us are present,” Leliana agreed. She looked pointedly at the spots where Cassandra and Cullen normally stood. “All voices must be heard.”

Edric nodded in agreement, grateful for the reprieve. He needed more time to mull things over. This was too monumental a decision to make in haste. “Are we adjourning then?” he asked.

The women nodded, almost in sync with each other.

“Adjourned.”

*

“You cannot be serious!”

Evelyn had never heard the Commander sound so angry. He was livid, the veins in his neck cording with suppressed rage. His normally handsome face was drawn down into a scowl. Next to him, Cassandra wore a similar expression, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“I am quite serious, Commander,” Solas said calmly, unmoved by the other’s anger.

“You would let that amount of magic free, merely in an attempt to close the Breach? It could be a disaster!”

“It could be,” the elf allowed, “but I highly doubt it. We do, after all, have Templars such as yourself to restrain us, should we prove unable to handle the demands.”

“And what of Evelyn?” Cullen demanded, gesturing harshly in her direction. “Is she capable of surviving that amount of magic flowing through her body?”

She scowled in annoyance that he’d thought to ask Solas that instead of her. Surely she knew her own limits better than he did!

“The anchor will serve as a conduit,” Solas replied. “It will bear the brunt of the magical force. Certainly, it will be painful for her, but I believe that Evelyn can handle such a task.” He shot her a brief glance, and she nodded in confirmation. “She is ready for this.”

Cullen muttered something angrily under his breath.

It had been like this for almost half an hour now. As soon as they had returned from the Hinterlands, they had been called into this meeting. After a brief explanation of their two options, clear lines had been drawn over which group of people the Inquisition should choose to aid. Evelyn, Leliana, Josephine, Solas, and Hawke were on the side of the mages. Cullen, Cassandra, and Edric were for the Templars.

The newest argument had begun when Solas had mentioned that the mages had the power to seal the Breach. The Commander had reacted violently against the notion of allowing such a large group of mages into the Inquisition’s camp. They hadn’t the resources to keep them in check, he’d argued, and wouldn’t be able to withstand the havoc abominations could wreak. Hawke in particular had scorned that excuse, rejecting the notion that mages needed Templar handlers.

“Why must it be the mages?” Edric asked suddenly. All eyes in the room shifted to him as he stepped forward. “You believe that the mages can pour enough magic into Evelyn for her to seal the Breach, albeit at some level of risk to herself.” He shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of putting her life on the line like that.”

“Don’t use me as your excuse!” Evelyn snapped.

Edric scowled at her, but continued speaking calmly to Solas. “If the mages can help her seal the Breach, then shouldn’t the Templars be able to stabilize it enough that she alone could close it?”

“Theoretically, yes,” Solas allowed. The admission seemed to make him uncomfortable.

“Then why not ally with the Templars?” he suggested. “There is no risk of abominations then, and the political fallout would be almost nonexistent.”

“And the mages would return to Tevinter, where they would become _property,_ ” Hawke interjected. “What a wonderful idea that is!”

“They are already property,” Cassandra snapped. “They made sure of that when they agreed to serve Alexius.”

“So agreements made under duress are legitimate?” he retorted. “Interesting. I wish I’d known that back in Kirkwall!”

“I believe that is enough bickering,” Josephine said loudly. She eyed all of them with frustration. “We haven’t the time to be arguing like this. A decision must be made!”

“Agreed,” Solas said. He turned to Evelyn. “Evelyn is the one who will seal the Breach. I believe that her thoughts on the matter are worth hearing.”

All eyes were on her then. It made her uncomfortable, but she refused to back down. “I believe that we should help the mages,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “We can’t let the Elder One have an army of mages at his command.” Three cool stares met her gaze, disapproving and unflinching. She had suspected Cullen and Cassandra to disapprove, but Edric’s hit her the worst. She wasn’t used to him disagreeing with her; normally, they were of one mind. When they were children, it had always been her and Edric against Ewan. His enmity might have weakened her resolve, had Hawke not been standing just behind her, a warm hand on her back for strength.

“I know that you want to help the Templars because they are your brothers and sisters,” she continued. “But they are not slaves. They won’t be taken from their homes and forced to join an army, fight a war that they want nothing to do with.”

“And what exactly do you think will happen to the Templars if we do not help them?” Cullen snapped. “The red lyrium will drive them mad! Abandoning them is the same as condemning them to their execution!”

Evelyn ignored him. She hadn’t been speaking to him - not really. Her words had been meant for Edric.

Her brother stared back at her, his face cool and impassive. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking - had she managed to sway him? They had presented logical arguments for saving the mages. Could he not see that?

Her heart fell when he shook his head, turning away. “You don’t understand,” he said quietly. “You can’t understand. You have never taken lyrium.”

“I have, too!”

“You _haven’t,_ ” Cullen replied. “The lyrium that mages use to replenish their mana is entirely different from the lyrium they feed the Templars. It is purer, less addictive.”

“It will drive them mad, Evelyn,” Edric said. “And then it will kill them. I cannot abandon my brothers and sisters to that fate.”

“It’s hardly abandoning them if they chose to follow a madman,” Hawke pointed out dryly.

“I could say the same of the mages,” Edric shot back.

“But the mages didn’t choose this!” Evelyn cried. “Their leader made the decision!”

“And they chose _her_ ,” Cassandra added hotly. “They allowed her to speak for all of them!”

“How is that any different from what is going on with the Templars?”

“And now we’ve come full circle,” Hawke interjected flatly.

Evelyn fell silent, staring desperately at her brother. How could she make him understand? She was beginning to panic, thinking that perhaps he wasn’t going to listen to her. But she couldn’t just abandon the mages to their fate; she refused to do such a thing.

“The mages have children with them, Edric,” she pleaded. “ _Children!_ What will happen to them if they’re taken to Tevinter?”

“There will be casualties no matter what course of action we choose,” he began, avoiding her eyes. “We cannot think that-”

“Are any of the Templars children?” she demanded. “Are any of them there against their will?”

“It isn’t that simple-”

“It _is_ that simple!”

“To the Void, it is! Stop being so childish!”

“ _I’m_ being childish? You’re just as pigheaded as me!”

“This isn’t about being stubborn!” he snapped.

“Then what is it about, Edric?”

“You know damn good and well what this is!”

“Please, enlighten me!”

“This is about you being a mage!” he shouted. “This is you instantly taking their side because you feel you have some sort of connection with these people! You have _nothing_ in common with them!”

The room instantly quieted, and Evelyn froze.

He had yelled at her. Edric _never_ yelled - at anyone.

He looked surprised, as if he had just now realized how harshly he’d spoken.

Her eyes narrowed as the meaning of his words began to sink in. “I have nothing in common with them?” she repeated coldly. “How can you say that?”

“Evelyn -”

“Would I not be one of them, if Mother had put me in a Circle?” she asked, ignoring him. “If Father hadn’t risked his livelihood so that I could have some chance at a normal life?”

“Maybe you would,” he allowed. “But they didn’t, Evelyn! They _didn’t_! How can you possibly know what they have been through, what they are thinking? You can’t! You’re as different from them as I am. You’re not one of them!”

“I could have been!”

“That’s completely irrelevant!” he snapped. He huffed out an angry breath, fists clenched tight against his sides. “You want to protect the mages because you are a mage. I want to protect the Templars because I am a Templar. The difference, Evelyn, is that I’ve been in their shoes - I’ve served corrupt leaders, I’ve doubted my duty. I’ve been ordered to do things that I found absolutely appalling. What have you done?” He shook his head. “Mother and Father, and Ewan and I, we _all_ protected you with our lives so that you wouldn’t _have_ to know what it feels like to be locked up in a Circle. Do you know what that cost us? Do you know the lengths that we had to go to? It was hard, Evelyn, incredibly so. But we did it willingly because we love you! You’re our family! So don’t you stand there and dare pretend that you’re one of them! Not when we gave you everything you needed to live a different life!”

His words stung, even as she denied them in her head. This wasn’t just because she was a mage - it _wasn’t._ Hot, angry tears welled up in her eyes, and her throat choked up, refusing to let her speak in her own defense.

Edric had already turned away from her, looking instead to the rest of the room. “We will leave for Therinfal Redoubt in the morning,” he said. “Cassandra, Vivienne, and the Chargers will accompany me.”

Vivienne? The Chargers? She wasn’t familiar with the names, and she didn’t care to find out. He was ignoring her now - on _purpose._

He turned to Josephine. “Have we heard from any of the noble families that you wrote to?”

“Yes,” Josephine said quickly. She avoided Evelyn’s gaze as she walked across the room, pulling a small stack of letters from a pocket. “They seem most agreeable to our suggestions for confronting Lucius.”

Suggestions? Letters?

 _He already knew what he was going to do,_ she suddenly realized. _This wasn’t a meeting to decide on a course of action - it was just an opportunity for him to confirm his choice._

She turned out her heel and rushed out of the room, too upset to hear any more. The door banged loudly on her exit, but she paid it no heed. Let them be uncomfortable - they certainly hadn’t spared her feelings.

She wasn’t sure where she was going; all she knew was that she had needed to get out of there. She stalked out of the Chantry, pushing blindly through the crowds of Inquisition soldiers and refugees. A few shot her odd glances; they must have noticed the tears now streaming down her face. Irritably, she raised a hand to brush them away, scrubbing at her face until it stung.

She finally stopped at the edge of the frozen lake. The wind was stronger here, and it whipped at her face and hair. It was invigorating, and she breathed in deeply, allowing herself to calm down. It wasn’t easy - her nerves were still thrumming with nervous energy. As her heartbeat slowed, a great sense of fatigue came over her. She felt as if she’d run a great distance at high speed.

With a sigh, she sat down on a nearby rock, pulling her arms around her for warmth.

 _It isn’t fair,_ she thought. _He wouldn’t even listen to me!_

 _Ah, but he did,_ another part of her argued. _He just used the same arguments against you that you used against him._    

“It’s entirely different,” she said aloud. “The Templars don’t have children with them, and no one wants to turn them into slaves.”

 _No, the Lord Seeker just wants to drive them mad with red lyrium,_ that same, contrary part of her said slyly. _And isn’t that almost as bad?_

“I don’t know,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “Maybe he was right.”

“Or maybe he was wrong.”

Evelyn’s head shot up as someone sat down beside her. It was Dorian, a light smile on his handsome face. His expression quickly changed when he saw her puffy cheeks and red eyes. “I take it that the meeting with your brother did not go as planned,” he said.

She snorted. “You could say that,” she muttered.

“Ah. That is… unfortunate,” he replied.

“He wouldn’t even listen to me,” she continued. “It was as if… as if he’d already made up his mind, and we were just there to make it look as if we were having a worthwhile discussion.”

“Then the Inquisition will ally with the Templars,” the other mage mused.

“It’s stupid,” she said sullenly. “But Edric _is_ a Templar. Of course he took their side.” She shook her head. “I had just thought that we could sway him.”

“He would not listen to your arguments?” Dorian asked, surprised. “Hmm. I thought that we were most persuasive.”

She gave him a quick run-down of what had happened, including the parts towards the end where things had gotten nasty. She hated the sympathy that she saw in his eyes - she didn’t need pity. She needed to help.

“The worst part is that so much of what he said was true,” Evelyn admitted at the end of her tale. “I don’t know what it’s like to be a Circle mage.” She looked over at Dorian, who had listened to her quietly without comment. “Do you?”

“I was in a Circle, yes,” he replied, “but the word has quite a different meaning in Tevinter. Circles in the Imperium are privileged places of learning - not every mage is allowed to join, you see.”

She snorted. “Of course,” she murmured. “Tevinter allows magic. That was a stupid question.”

“No question is stupid,” he chided her gently. “Besides, it’s better to ask me about the Imperium than any of these southerners. They all seem to think we’re cannibals who feast on the blood of babies! Or equally absurd things,” he added quickly, seeing her shocked expression.

“It must be nice to live in a place where magic isn’t feared,” she said slowly.

He chuckled. “That part is nice, but it has its drawbacks,” he said. “I do believe dear Brother Roderick has gone on at length about Tevinter malpractice. He would likely give you a lecture, if you desired!”

She scowled. “Roderick can keep his pompous lectures to himself,” she snapped.

Dorian chuckled. “I knew there was something about you that I liked!”

For a moment, the two of them were silent, both of them staring out across the frozen lake. It was a nice day, Evelyn realized, though the day’s _events_ hadn’t been particularly thrilling. The sun was shining brightly, making the snow sparkle and the crystalline ice shine with a pale blue glow. Recruits were taking advantage of the clear weather to practice their drills along the lakeshore, and Master Dennett appeared to be putting horses through their paces across the way.

It was peaceful. Nice.

“I don’t think your brother was right, Evelyn.”

She turned to Dorian, raising an eyebrow speculatively. “About what?”

“You may not have been raised in a Circle, but you know what it is like to be treated as if you are different,” he continued. “You know what it is to have to hide something very important, very essential, about yourself. In a way, I think that that is actually harder - you were not caged, but you were not allowed to be what you are, either. But the fact that your experience with magic was better than most does not invalidate it.”

She smiled hesitantly, his kind words a welcome change. “You almost sound like you know that from experience,” she said.

“Not with magic,” he admitted. “But in a sense… yes. I can certainly empathize. Someday, I’ll explain it to you better, but for now, I believe you have a visitor.”

She followed the tip of Dorian’s finger to a hooded figure standing several hundred feet back, watching the two of them curiously. Evelyn frowned, unable to make out much detail at this distance. Dorian stood and offered her a hand up. He then departed, a smile on his face, leaving her alone with the newcomer.

She stiffened when she realized that it was Leliana. The spymaster was watching her carefully, a neutral expression upon her face. “What is it?” Evelyn demanded, her tone harsher than was probably warranted. “Has my brother called me back?”

“No,” the redhead said easily. “He is speaking with Cassandra at the moment.”

Evelyn snorted. “Of course he is,” she muttered.

“She and your brother are very similar,” Leliana noted.

“I’ve noticed.”

“They live by their faith, always attempting to serve the greater good. It blinds them to certain things, I think.” She shot Evelyn a pointed look then. “And sometimes they are stubborn. Very, very stubborn. A trait I think you share.”

Evelyn flushed. “Perhaps,” she allowed.

“Your brother is doing what he thinks is right,” Leliana continued. “He wishes to save the Templars - the same way that he wanted to save the Templars in Kirkwall. I do not think he wants to abandon the mages, but he is fixated upon Therinfal Redoubt. He will not be moved.”

Had the spymaster come all the way out here to tell her this? Evelyn rolled her eyes - she was very much aware of how dogmatic her brother could be when it came to protecting Templars.

“I know,” she said dryly, crossing her arms across her chest.

“But there are many who wish to help the mages. Myself included. Many people would… go to great lengths to ensure that they are safe.”

Evelyn frowned, catching the subtle meaning in the woman’s words. “What are you saying?” she asked.

The barest hint of a smile crossed the redhead’s lips. “Tomorrow morning, after your brother leaves, meet me in the forest,” she replied. “I will be waiting in the old apothecary’s house. Bring only those you trust.”

She turned to leave.

“Wait!” Evelyn cried. Leliana paused, looking back over her shoulder. “What are we going to do?”

The spymaster chuckled.

“You will see.”

*

“Where are we going again?” Varric asked, hoisting his crossbow a little higher upon his back. He looked around the dimly lit woods suspiciously.

“You’ll see,” Evelyn replied.

She hadn’t told her companions much about where they were going. There wasn’t much to tell, really. Leliana had intimated that they would be returning to Redcliffe to save the mages, but how exactly were they to do that? The situation hadn’t changed.

“Are we going off to have a tryst?” Hawke asked suddenly. “Because - not that I don’t like you all, of course - I hadn’t thought to make arrangements for _five_ people. That’ll take some work, finding places for all the hands.”

“I can show you where they’ll go,” Dorian offered.

“Not interested,” Blackwall said gruffly.

Evelyn scowled at Hawke, who merely offered her a sheepish grin. “Could be fun,” he muttered.

“No,” she retorted.

“Is that a no on the situation, or no it wouldn’t be any fun?”

“Stop talking. We’re almost there.”

Sure enough, a few more minutes of walking and they’d reached the old cabin. The windows glowed with a dim light - Leliana was already there. Evelyn walked up to the door cautiously, rapping her knuckles against the wood as quietly as she could.

It swung open on the third knock, revealing Leliana’s hooded figure. She quickly ushered them all inside, locking the cabin once more.

“I should’ve known you were in on this, Nightingale,” Varric said, smirking. He took a seat on a nearby stool. “So, what’ve got for us?”

“A way into the castle,” the spymaster replied.

“Castle?” Blackwall repeated. “Redcliffe Castle?” He eyed the redhead skeptically. “It’s heavily fortified, and the defense works are among the best I’ve seen. How will we get past them?”

“If you cannot get to something by going straight, you must find a more circuitous route.” Leliana walked quietly amongst them, giving them each a knowing look. She stopped just before Evelyn, reaching down to press something small into her palm. Evelyn looked down, surprised - it was a ring, a man’s ring judging from the size. She looked back up just in time to see Leliana moving on again, a smile on her lips. “I happen to know of such a route.”

She stopped just before the fire, her arms clasped behind her back. “There is a hidden passage into the castle,” she announced. “You will find a trap door in an old mill atop a nearby hill that leads into the castle’s dungeons. The ring is the key.”

“So we’ll sneak in unannounced,” Varric said, nodding. “That takes care of our grand entrance. But how do we fight the magister? There’s only the five of us.”

“I have men in Redcliffe,” Leliana replied easily. “They have infiltrated the castle. Servants, guards, hostlers… the little people that a magister would not think to notice.” She turned, facing them. “They will help you, should you need it.”

“Infiltrate and overwhelm - I like it!” Dorian announced.

“You must be cautious,” the spymaster warned. “My reports state that the magister has brought quite a few of his own men with them. He will not make this easy for you.”

“Of course not!” Hawke agreed, nodding. “If it were easy, it’d ruin the fun!”

“I think we may a different idea of what constitutes fun,” Varric said dryly.

Leliana ignored their playful banter, her blue eyes fixed on Evelyn. “You are sure that you want to do this?” she asked quietly.  

Evelyn gulped but nodded. “I am.” She was proud that her voice did not waver. “And what of you, Leliana? Is this a risk, helping us?”

“Only if you fail,” the redhead replied bluntly. “I have faith in your abilities, Evelyn, and the skills of those you take with you. You _can_ do this.”

“Why help us?” Dorian asked suddenly. Leliana’s eyes flicked over to him. “Is this not violating a direct order from your superior?”

“Edric is not my superior,” Leliana replied. “He is my colleague. He has chosen to do one thing. I have chosen to do another. That I have asked his sister to help me achieve my goals… well, that he may not like.” She smiled. “But I think there is little that he can do to stop us.”

“And what _are_ your goals?” the mage pressed.

She was silent for a moment, lips pursed in thought. For a moment, Evelyn thought that she wouldn’t answer. Dorian seemed to think as much as well, for he turned away with a disappointed expression. The both of them quickly turned back when Leliana did speak again.

“Mages do not deserve many of the things that have been done to them,” she said softly. “The Maker decreed that magic is meant to serve man, and never to rule over him, but is this what he would have wanted? Circles - glorified, gilded prisons?” She shook her head. “Too many people fear a potentiality that has never come to pass. Greatness has come from the Circles before.  Greatness may also come of these mages.”

“Greatness?” Evelyn asked.

“She means the Hero of Ferelden,” Varric replied. Leliana lifted an eyebrow at him. “Right?”

“Yes,” the redhead said, smirking.

“You knew the Hero?” Blackwall asked, sounding surprised.

“Do you not?” Leliana shot back.

“I… our paths never crossed,” he said. “But I would have liked to have met her. She was a damn hero.”

“Hence the title,” Hawke said dryly, earning him a baleful look from the Warden.

“I knew her,” Leliana agreed. “She is a very dear friend of mine. Would that I could see her more often.”

“The rumors that reached Tevinter said that you were more than just friends,” Dorian mused. “Tell me, is there any truth to them?”

Leliana smiled in response. “Perhaps,” she allowed, and the mage chuckled. Her smile faded as she returned to seriousness. “But Solona flourished because she was allowed to - and nothing flourishes when it is chained to something else.” She turned back to Evelyn. “You know the paths to Redcliffe. I have asked Master Dennett to provide you with horses. Go, and go quickly - there is no time to waste.”

Evelyn nodded, and their group prepared to leave. The rest of them were already out the door when Leliana caught her arm.

“Be careful, Evelyn,” the redhead murmured. “This will be dangerous.”

Evelyn nodded. “I know,” she replied, “but I can do it.”

“I know you can.” Leliana released her.

Once again, Evelyn made to leave.

“Oh, and Evelyn?” She paused, turning back to the redhead. “You might try and come up with an excuse to tell your brother when you get back. I will protect you as I can, but he will be angry.”

Evelyn snorted. “That’s probably an understatement,” she agreed. “But this is the right thing to do. We should do it - no, we _must_ do it. And Edric can’t tell me otherwise.”

“Good luck then.  You’ll need it.”

“I hope not too much luck. I’m afraid mine is very bad; I think I have a tendency to drain it from those around me.” The two of them looked up to see Hawke; he’d come back to see why Evelyn wasn’t with them.

“Perhaps you’re cursed,” Leliana offered with a soft laugh.

“I _have_ offended a lot of people,” he said ruefully.

The spymaster retreated without another word, leaving Evelyn and Hawke standing there alone. Their companions were waiting just out of eyeshot, soft murmurings the only indication that they were still there.

“Are you ready for this?” Hawke asked.

Evelyn shrugged. “I guess I have to be,” she replied.

He chuckled. “That’s about I how felt in Kirkwall,” he admitted. “It never seemed to matter whether or not I thought I could do something. Either I did it, or I didn’t. Most of the time, I succeeded.” He cocked his head at her. “I think you will too.”

She smiled, his confidence lifting her spirits. “Thanks,” she murmured.

“I’ve got your back, Evelyn. And your front. And your sides too, I suppose-”

She punched him playfully in the arm. “I get it,” she said.

“Just making sure.” He jerked his head back in the direction of the others. “Come on, then - let’s go. We’ve got work to do.”

She nodded, and stepped forward, expecting Hawke to do the same. Instead, he caught her chin and lifted it, pressing his lips to hers. Her noise of surprise seemed to spur him on, his hand moving to palm her cheek, fingers threading into her hair. She leaned into him willfully, letting her hand rest against his chest as he deepened the kiss.

Evelyn staggered forward a bit when he abruptly pulled back. She blinked up at him rather blankly. “What was that for?” she asked.

“Luck, of course,” he replied.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought you said that you had bad luck?”

“ _I_ have bad luck,” he clarified. “My kisses, on the other hand, have been known to be supremely effective at providing beneficence!”

“And how would you know that?” she asked. “Do you go around kissing your friends before battle?”

“Only the attractive ones.”

“Hey, now!” They both turned to see Varric standing a few feet away, having come back to see what the hold-up was. “You’ve never kissed me before a fight!”

Hawke stepped forward, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Like I said, Varric - the attractive ones.”

“Well, that’s just rude.”

Still smiling, Evelyn followed them back to where Blackwall and Dorian were standing, and together the five of them set off for the stables, walking quickly. It was to be a long, hard ride back to the Hinterlands.

There was no time to lose.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope this was worth the wait! 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think - feel free to drop me a comment! :)


	16. Shadows of Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn worries about their impending strike against Alexius, while Edric makes contact with the Lord Seeker at Therinfal Redoubt.

Cassandra was not an indecisive woman. When she saw something that needed to be done, she acted. There was no logic in standing around listlessly, waiting until the situation changed.

That being said, she currently had no idea what to do about Edric. She had never seen the man so conflicted. He had been quiet the entire duration of the journey from Haven, brows often drawn down into a heavy frown. 

Should she attempt to comfort him? Talk to him? 

She was not good at this sort of thing. She never had been. 

Once again, she began to pace, the confines of her tent maddeningly small. She could only move a few feet in any direction before she was forced to turn. Normally, she would have left the camp and taken a walk. But with the nobility that Josephine had contacted flocking to their side the closer that they got to Therinfal, it was nearly impossible to go outside without someone demanding something of her. 

A frustrated noise left her mouth as she continued to debate what to do. 

Her decision was made for her a few minutes later when the flap to her tent burst open, a cool gust of night air ruffling her hair. Edric stalked in, an annoyed scowl on his face. 

“Why do they always want something?” he snapped. 

Immediately, she straightened. “Who?”

“These blighted nobles!” he continued. “No matter how many times I speak with them or try to appease their problems, they always find something new to complain about!” He sat down heavily on a stool, shaking his head. 

“What do they want?” Cassandra asked, sitting down upon her cot. 

“What  _ don’t _ they want?”

She had to give him that. 

“You have the right idea,” he muttered darkly. “Stay in your tent as much as possible. Giving them any other hint of your presence just encourages them.” He paused for a moment, and then looked up at her. “I’m sorry for barging in here like this. Have I disturbed you?”

“Not at all,” she replied easily. “I was just thinking.”

“What about?”

She hesitated - did she tell him the truth? He was looking at her expectantly, waiting patiently as she decided what to say. “To be truthful… I was thinking about you,” she admitted. She clenched her hands together in her lap so that they wouldn’t began to wring themselves nervously. 

“Me?” Edric repeated, sounding surprised. 

“You have been distant these past few days,” Cassandra continued. “Something is troubling you.”

A look of realization crossed his face. “Ah.” 

“Is it… is there…” She broke off with a harsh snort, hating her sudden inability to articulate her thoughts. “I am here, if you wish to talk. You should know that.”

He considered her offer. “I do know that,” he said quietly. “Perhaps it would do me well to discuss it.” His eyes were fixed upon the ground again, a far-away look to them. “I’m not used to disagreeing with Evelyn. I’m not used to fighting. It was always Ewan and I shouting things at each other.” He ran a hand over his face. “Maker, I…” His gaze flicked up to Cassandra. “Was I wrong?”

“Wrong?” she repeated.

“Should we have helped the mages?” he pressed. “I pondered the issue for hours, Cassandra, and I thought I had come to the right conclusion, but Evelyn has me second guessing myself. Perhaps I should have listened to her.”

“You did listen to her,” Cassandra pointed out. “And she listened to you. You just did not agree.” 

He nodded. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell myself,” he murmured. “I know this is the right move - I can feel it. We cannot allow Lucius to further corrupt the Templars, and we can use their abilities to suppress the Breach’s magic! I just… I wish she had agreed with me.”

Something occurred to her then that she had not considered before. Edric didn’t seem to have planned for the possibility that Evelyn would have disagreed with him. She knew that the two siblings had been close as children; he’d told her all kinds of stories of their childhood. Not a one of them contained an instance of Evelyn and Edric arguing about anything. 

“You thought she  _ would _ agree with you.” 

Cassandra didn’t realize that she’d spoken aloud until Edric looked up at her, startled. “I…” He swallowed thickly, looking away. “I suppose that I did.” He snorted, shaking his head. “Stupid of me, wasn’t it? She’s her own person. And she’s a mage. I should have guessed that she would want to help them. It sounds silly, Cassandra, but we never disagreed on  _ anything. _ Food, colors, politics… we shared,  _ still _ share, so many opinions. The only thing we didn’t share was our belief in the Maker, and even on that, we agreed to not debate it.”

“I do not know what that is like,” she admitted. “My brother and I argued all of the time.”

“Didn’t get along?”

“We got along quite well,” she corrected. “I loved him very much. But we did not always see eye to eye.” 

“What did you do when you got into fights?”

“Wrestled, mostly,” she admitted. “He was bigger than me, but I was faster. I held my own most of the time.” 

To her surprise, Edric let out a low chuckle. It sent a strange thrill through her, the melodious sound like music to her ears. “That sounds like you,” he replied. “Though I can’t imagine you challenging someone to a wrestling match now simply for disagreeing with you.”

She sniffed. “Of course not,” she snapped. “It would not be fair to them.”

He laughed in earnest at that. Her lips quivered in response, despite her best efforts to keep a straight face. “What is so funny?” she demanded. 

“Just the thought of you, wrestling our opponents to the ground,” he admitted, “punching those who don’t approve of the Inquisition straight in the gut. I’m certainly not opposed to the idea.”

“I would have to remove my armor first,” she allowed, joining in on the joke. 

“I’d like to see that.”

Cassandra froze, as did Edric.  _ Was he… did he… _ She pushed the hopeful thought from her mind, even as she felt her cheeks redden in pleased surprise. 

“That didn’t come out right,” he said quickly, a shy smile forming on his lips. “I’m certain that you look lovely without your armor, but I didn’t mean to imply…” He broke off with a strangled sigh, chuckling to himself. “I’m doing a terrible job of this, aren’t I?”

“No!” she said. “I knew what you meant!” 

He meant that he would enjoy seeing her challenge the Inquisition’s enemies to a fistfight. That was all that he had meant by his words. Nothing more. She squashed the tiny, contrary thoughts in her head arguing that perhaps he’d meant something different, and had admitted it by accident.

“Good,” he said, wiping his hands on his trousers. Sweaty palms - was he nervous? He stood then, looking anywhere but at her as he took a few steps towards the tent’s entrance. “Well, I’ve embarrassed myself thoroughly, and have intruded upon your evening enough, I think. I believe I’ll take my leave now.”

“Yes, of course,” she replied. “Good night.”

“Good night,” he said, nodding. He moved to pull back the flap, but hesitated just before he left. Slowly, he put the canvas back down and turned back towards her. “Thank you, Cassandra,” he murmured, finally meeting her gaze. “Thank you for listening. I… I needed to admit that to someone.” 

She nodded curtly. “It was nothing.”

“It was more than that,” he disagreed. “I needed that - more than I should admit. Thank you.” This time, he really did leave, leaving a short gust of wind in his wake. 

Cassandra watched him go, a strange empty feeling settling into her stomach. She realized then that she hadn’t wanted him to go. She would have preferred it if he had stayed. But it was impossible; while their soldiers were well aware of her friendship with Edric, were the nobility to see the two of them sharing a tent long into the night… it would seem improper. 

She huffed at the thought, reaching back to unbuckle her breastplate for the night. Since when had she cared what the nobility thought? She’d eschewed them since she was a girl, hating their frivolity and the endless politicking. If she wanted to invite a man to her tent, that was her prerogative! 

But then again… she had had never needed the support of the local gentry as the Inquisition now needed them. Josephine had made it very clear to them that a lot of their power derived from the public’s belief in their ability to solve problems. Were they to lose that support… it could be disastrous. She did not want to jeopardize that. She  _ would _ not jeopardize that.

No matter how much she wanted to call Edric back to her tent. 

*

Evelyn turned onto her side for what felt like the hundredth time that night in another futile attempt to get comfortable. It was no use - the ground beneath her bedroll was hard, only a thin layer of branches and pine needles separating her from the tightly packed dirt. What she would’ve given for a cot! She snorted as the thought crossed her mind; she would’ve been happy with a  _ tent _ , let alone a cot. But their need for secrecy was great, so they had set up camp in the dense forest just beyond Redcliffe, where the trees were too thick for any sort of shelter. 

At least it wasn’t raining.

With an aggravated sigh, she rolled back onto her back, staring up at what little she could see of the night sky. It was very dark tonight, both of the moons waning crescents. It made the world seem a little more eerie, a little more dangerous. An appropriate sensation, given what they were to about to do.

They had made good time to the Hinterlands, the journey from Haven taking little more than a week. Their first stop had been the Crossroads; the horses were left with the Inquisition soldiers there, and they had stocked up on what supplies they needed. Then, their path had turned to the mountains as they took the back route towards Redcliffe, avoiding main roads so as not to be seen. It had turned out to be a prudent decision - the gates were once again closed to all foot traffic. 

She hoped that they weren’t too late to help the mages. There was a lot of gossip about the situation in Redcliffe, but frightfully little actual news. Even Leliana’s scouts had been unable to give her more information. 

_ There’s no use in worrying over it, _ she told herself firmly.  _ Either they are still there, or they aren’t.  _

Giving up entirely on sleep, she pushed aside her troubled thoughts and sat up, keeping her bedroll wrapped tight around her for warmth. A quick glance around the campsite told her that her companions were all asleep - all save Hawke, keeping watch around a very small, well concealed fire pit. Her movements caught his attention, and he beckoned her over. 

“Can’t sleep?” he guessed as she joined him on a log. She shivered in the cold, curling herself into a ball. Hawke absently put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her into his side. Evelyn turned towards him, grateful for the added heat.

“I’m too nervous,” she admitted, finally answering his question. 

“About…?”

“Something going wrong,” she replied, “The mages not being there. Alexius having more men than we can possibly defeat. Him expecting us.” 

“The usual list of unfortunate scenarios, then,” he said, nodding. 

“Are you nervous as well?” she asked.

“Nervous? Me?” He snorted. “Never!” In a much quieter voice, he added, “But yes. I am.”

“You’d never know it, just from looking at you,” she informed him. “How do you do that, anyways?”

“Do what?”

“You always look so… so confident. You’re unflappable, adapting to any new situation without pause.” 

He chuckled. “Is that how it looks?”

“It’s a little awe-inspiring,” she admitted. He beamed at the compliment, and she quickly pursed her lips in irritation. “Not  _ that _ awe-inspiring,” she amended. 

“No, no, you said it!” He said quickly, sounding quite pleased. “I inspire  _ awe _ .” 

Evelyn rolled her eyes. 

“Well, at least I can sleep easy knowing that I always  _ look _ the part of the hero during the action,” Hawke continued. “Normally, I feel like shitting myself.” 

“...I’m a little less inspired now.”

“It’s the truth!” He paused to run his fingers through his hair, adjusting his bangs from where the wind had blown them askew. “I must seem more sure of myself than I am. Most of the time, I’m just doing what I can to get by. I don’t even have a plan a lot of the time. But you don’t really need one, I’ve discovered. You just have to stay one step ahead of the other person.” 

“And if you can’t?” she pressed. “What if your opponent outsmarts you, or is faster than you?”

“Then you lose,” he admitted. “No one wins them all, Evelyn.”

She knew that. It was an unspoken fact of life that there was always someone who could best you, always a situation that couldn’t be surmounted. It didn’t change what had to be done.

“We can’t afford to let Alexius win,” she murmured. 

“He won’t.”

She turned to look at Hawke, lifting an eyebrow at the surety in his voice. “How can you be so confident?” she asked. 

“No one wins everything. That’s a given. But there are also some fights that you can’t afford to lose. The consequences are just too dire. Like this one - we have to succeed. And so we will!”

“At least one of us is confident.”

“You think we’ll lose?”

“No, I just…” She broke off, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to think. I’ve never been in this sort of situation before, where so much rests on whether or not we succeed. If we fail, we…”

“We probably die,” he concluded, nodding. She was taken aback by how easily the assessment came from his lips. “Well, you might not. You’re valuable. They’ll likely want to study the mark. They might ransom me and Varric - together, we’re worth a lot of money. Dorian might get a ransom, too, if he’s as important as he says he is.” He shrugged. “Or they might slit our throats and throw us over the walls of the keep! Who knows?” 

“Don’t be so optimistic,” she said flatly. 

“I like to be realistic,” Hawke replied. “In this case, the fact that death awaits us if we lose will likely spur us to fight all the harder. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” 

She nodded after a moment’s pause, recognizing the logic in his words. There was no use agonizing over the inevitable; they would do their best. They had to. There were no other options. 

Both of them looked up as Blackwall approached. “I’ll take the next watch,” he said to Hawke, motioning that they should switch places. “Can’t sleep much, anyways.” 

Hawke nodded and stood. Evelyn rose with him, and they headed back towards their respective bedrolls. Or at least, she headed towards hers, and Hawke followed her. Her heart fluttered nervously in her chest when she guessed at what he was doing. “And where are you going?” she asked, her voice a touch breathless with anticipation.

He stopped, and she turned to face him, her lower lip catching in her teeth. The look he wore was cautious, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he had made a mistake. 

“Wellllllllll,” he said slowly, drawing out the word so that it was much longer than one syllable, “I was going to attempt to go to sleep. With you. Next to each other, not with each other, mind you. Unless you want to, of course, and then I’m all for it.” 

Evelyn swore softly under her breath; the things he said! She had to take a moment to regain her thoughts, the suggestive images that had sprung to her mind unbidden at Hawke’s words lingering, making her lose her concentration.

“I’ve found that being next to someone can sometimes make it easier to fall asleep,” he continued. “It’s a comfort thing.” 

“I know that!”

“Is this too forward? It is, isn’t it?” He sighed, shaking his head. “Mother always did say that I come on too strong.” 

“No!” She shifted nervously on her feet, coming out of her daze. 

He lifted an eyebrow. “No?”

“It’s fine,” she snapped. She turned on her heel and stalked the rest of the way to her bedroll, flipping back the blankets and slipping inside before she remembered that she’d put her boots back on her feet when she’d met Hawke at the fire. Huffing irritably, she sat back up and tore through the laces, shoving the leather shoes away. 

Hawke watched her actions with amusement, walking over to her once she’d finished chastising her footwear. “They seem properly admonished,” he said, earning a fierce glare from her. He chuckled at that, crouching down low so that their faces were level. “I’m still a bit unsure of where we stand on the sleeping together issue.”

“You can stay if you want,” she retorted, lying down and stubbornly turning onto her side, away from him. 

“Do you want me to?” When she didn’t reply, he gently grabbed her shoulder and turned her over, forcing her to face him. “Evelyn.”

Of course she did - he shouldn’t have had to ask. The thought of being near him all night sent a little thrill through her, her heart beating fasting in anticipation. It also set her frayed nerves at ease a little; perhaps she would finally get some sleep.

“I… yes.”

“Are you certain? I don’t want-”

“Hawke,  _ yes. _ ” 

“I can always-”

“As adorable as the two of you are,” Dorian’s quiet voice drawled, “Some of us are attempting to sleep, please and thank you.” 

“My apologies for interrupting your beauty rest,” Hawke replied. “I know you need as much of it as you can get.”

A weak chuckle met their ears. “Oh, I forgive you! I can be quite magnanimous when I choose to be.”

Evelyn tensed despite herself when Hawke pulled back the blankets and crawled in next to her. She forced herself to relax as he made himself comfortable, trying not to think of how only a thin layer of clothing now separated the two of them. It was hard going, the heat of him impossible to completely ignore. She found herself wanting to turn inwards, to curl up around him the way a cat might curl up before a fire. 

“I solemnly swear that I will not attempt anything out of the ordinary,” he announced, turning his head to look at her. “Should you have enough of me, you may throw me out.”

Evelyn snorted. “As if I could throw you anywhere,” she muttered. 

“That being said… I do sometimes kick in my sleep.” 

“I’ll be on the lookout, then.”

“And I snore.”

“Wonderful.”

“And I have a tendency to cuddle anything and anyone who’s next to me.”

“... I’m alright with that,” she said shyly, edging a little closer and daring to rest her head upon his shoulder. He hummed in approval, his hand snaking around her waist to pull her tight against his side. 

She fidgeted for a moment, unsure of how to align her body with his. Was she pressing too hard? Was she too rigid against him? “I’m not sure where to put my hands,” she admitted. 

“Here,” he suggested, grabbing her right hand and moving it so that it rested upon his chest. The motion pressed their bodies firmly together, and she became acutely aware of her breasts pressing against his ribcage. Her breath caught in her throat at the realization - surely, he could feel them as well. Perhaps she should move back a little, give him some room - “Evelyn.”

“Hmm?”

“Relax - I don’t bite. Most of the time,” he added as an afterthought.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” she said, snorting.

“I would never bite  _ you,” _ he replied. “Not unless you wanted me to, of course.”

“Why would I want you to bite me?” She realized the answer to her question as soon as the words left her mouth. She blushed, suddenly grateful for the darkness hiding her red cheeks. “Never mind.”

“Get it?” he asked, chuckling. She nodded. “Fenris apparently enjoyed being bitten.”

“I… really don’t how to reply to that.”

“Don’t you want to know how I know that?” 

“How  _ do  _ you know that?”

“It’s not nearly as intriguing as you’d think. Isabela is rather vocal about her sexual exploits.”

She frowned. “Fenris and Isabela are together?” she asked. She recalled various stories that Hawke had told her of the both of them, but he’d not mentioned this particular bit of information.

“Not in the sense that you and I are together, but they do have a certain... conjugal bond.” 

“I wouldn’t have expected that of them,” Evelyn admitted. 

“It surprised me at first, as well,” Hawke agreed. “But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. They’re both strikingly passionate people, and they have quite a few common interests. They’re good together, I think. They’ve helped each other.”

“Did it ever affect things between your companions?”

“Not at all,” he replied. “Though I do think Aveline tired of hearing about all of their exploits. She’s not particularly open about that sort of thing.”

“She’s a prude?”

He laughed, quickly covering his mouth with his hand to stifle the noise. “Don’t tell her that!” He warned. “She might gut you for it!”

“But is she?”

“There is, perhaps, a small percentage of prude in her.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being hesitant to talk about that kind of thing,” Evelyn replied, feeling to the need to come to the woman’s defense. She could certainly relate. It wasn’t that the topic of sex made her uncomfortable, but she certainly wasn’t used to people being  _ open _ about it, as if it were the most casual thing in the world to announce the intimate details of your relationship. None of the people in her village had ever spoken of such matters; in contrast, the soldiers of the Inquisition never seemed to _stop_ talking about it. She was still becoming accustomed to it.

“Of course not,” he agreed. He paused then, peering at her in the dim lighting. “Though you always  _ can… _ if you want to. You know that, right?”

She nodded. “I know,” she murmured.

“Good. And if you ever need pointers, or want to know how to do something-”

She shut him up by leaning forward and capturing his mouth in a kiss. It was quite effective, his mouth relaxing as her lips met his. When she didn’t pull away, he turned towards her, bringing his other arm up around her. 

Her entire body seemed to jolt at the contact, and she shuddered against him, fingers catching in the fabric of his shirt. She could feel every bit of him, every hard plane and angle of his musculature. He dwarfed her, his body entirely surrounding hers. She found she quite liked that. 

Evelyn gasped when he suddenly bit her lower lip. The pain was unexpected, but it quickly melted into pleasure when he took the chance to deepen the kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth. A tiny moan escaped her then, and his hands on her tightened. 

She was panting when he finally drew away, resting his forehead against hers. “We should sleep,” she murmured guiltily, thinking of what lay ahead of them.

“We should,” he agreed, leaning back in to kiss her again. “But I have to be honest with you, Evelyn - sleep is the  _ last _ thing on my mind right now.” 

Her core clenched at his words, for she felt the same. But hearing her thoughts spoken in his warm, seductive voice…

Hesitantly, she trailed her hand down his chest until she reached the hem of his shirt. He watched her carefully as she moved her hands beneath the fabric, feeling the heated skin of his torso. “How did a mage get to be so muscular?” she murmured, her fingers trailing down to the hem of his pants only to flit back up as soon as she touched fabric. 

He chuckled. “I lifted things up and put them down.” 

She raised her eyes to meet his gaze. “It must have been a lot of lifting.”

“Not as much as you’d think,” he replied. “I’m naturally big.” 

She didn’t miss the double entendre. “Is that so?”

“You tell me.” Without warning, he pressed his hips sharply against hers. Evelyn gasped at the sudden pressure against her core, the intense pleasure forcing a string of incomprehensible noises from her lips. She squirmed against him, half-attempting to get away and half-attempting to get closer. But Hawke didn’t seem to have any plans to let her go, rolling them over so that he was lying atop her before pressing down with his hips again.

This time, the motion was accompanied by a swift series of open-mouthed kisses to her neck. She clung to him as he peppered her throat with affection, the arousal flooding through her leaving her feeling boneless and languorous. 

She inhaled sharply when he bit down at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Instantly, he withdrew, lathing the bite with his tongue. Thinking back on their earlier conversation, she now understood why someone would enjoy being bitten. It was a strange sensation - the pain not quite overwhelmed by the pleasure, the feeling of being safe and yet not in control. She thought she could grow to like it.

In the right circumstances, of course. With the right person.

Hawke rolled back onto his side then, pulling back so he could see into her face.

“You liked that,” he accused, grinning at what was surely her disheveled appearance.

She scowled. “So what if I did?” 

He leaned forward and kissed her once more. “I’m just saying,” he said. 

“Well, don’t.”

He laughed at that. 

“And quit laughing!”

Only, that, of course, simply made him laugh harder. Huffing out a frustrated breath, she rolled onto her side and away from him. “You’re impossible,” she announced. 

“Maybe,” he allowed. He sidled up to her back, pulling her towards him until her back was touching his chest. He then flung an arm across her stomach to keep her in place, leaning down to whisper into her ear, “But you  _ like _ it.” 

She rolled her eyes even as her lips curved up in a tiny smile.  _ I very much like it.  _ Yet she didn’t tell him that. Instead, she murmured a quiet, “Go to sleep, Hawke.”

“You know, you can use my first name, if you want to,” he replied. “I believe we know each other well enough for that.”

Evelyn hesitated. She’d not heard anyone use Hawke’s given name before - not even Varric, and those two were thick as thieves. Hawke was more than just his surname; it was a title, a symbol of who he was. To call him by anything else seemed intensely personal. 

But what was their relationship if not increasingly intimate?

“If I do, will you go to sleep?”

“Maybe.”

“Then go to sleep… Garrett.”

He nestled up to her then, breathing out a contented sigh as he curved his larger body around hers. “I like it when you say my name,” he murmured, rubbing his nose against her hair. “You should do it more often.” He leaned down to press soft kiss against her cheek. “Good night, Evelyn.”

She couldn’t help but smile in return. “Good night, Garrett.” 

*

“Something is not right here.” 

Edric turned towards Vivienne, her quiet declaration breaking the near silence of the courtyard. She had a pensive look on her face, brows drawn down into a frown as her dark eyes surveyed the area. Her posture was tense, as if she suspected something was preparing to jump out at them and attack. Perhaps it was. 

“I sense it too,” he murmured, moving to stand beside her. 

“It is as if…” She paused, shaking her head. “No. I must be mistaken.”

“Mistaken?”

“The Veil is thin here,” she replied. “Faded, worn away… like a carpet trod upon by too many feet.” She glanced up at Edric, a sardonic smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You were right to come here, my dear. Trouble is most definitely afoot.” 

“Yes, but what kind of trouble?” he asked, sighing. 

That was the question of the day. They had arrived at Therinfal Redoubt early that morning, their ranks having swelled as the last of the local nobility joined them. To his surprise, the gates of the fortress had been thrown open, as if they were expected. He’d exchanged an uneasy look with Cassandra as the thought had hit him, and he’d seen the same trepidation mirrored in her stony gaze.

Still, they had proceeded as per their plans, requesting an audience with the Lord Seeker. A man had been waiting for them, prepared to take them directly to Lucius. It was the same man who had offered a dissenting opinion on Lucius’ actions in Val Royeaux, Edric had realized. It dismayed him to see that despite misgivings, such Templars were still serving their leader. He had hoped that some might have defected, seeking better judgment. 

“Ser?”

Edric turned as the Templar returned. 

“This way, if you please,” he said, motioning towards a door off to the side. “The Lord Seeker is ready to see you now.”

Edric nodded and fell in step beside the other Templar. “I recognize you,” he said. “From Val Royeaux. You doubted how vehemently Lucius denounced the Inquisition.”

“Yes, ser,” the man replied. “You speak correctly. I was there. And still, I have my doubts. It is not right, holing ourselves up here while the world falls apart.”

“Agreed.” He turned towards the man. “What were you doing in Val Royeaux, if I might ask? You’re not from Orlais.”

“Not at all. My name is Delrin Barris, son of Bann Jervin of Ferelden. I was stationed at the Chantry in Jader when the Lord Seeker recalled all of the Templars to his side.” He eyed Edric speculatively. “You did not hear of such?”

Edric snorted. “We were lucky to get our lyrium regularly in Kirkwall, let alone news from our superiors,” he replied. “Perhaps Knight-Commander Meredith received word, but… she never mentioned it to anyone. When I arrived, we were too busy rebuilding. We could not spare anyone, and leaving the city would have been disastrous, considering half the City Guard was killed in the uprising.” 

“I understand, ser,” Barris said quietly. “It has been trying for many of us.” 

“But we press on,” Edric agreed. “We must.”

Barris nodded, stepping aside as they arrived at the room that had been prepared for their meeting. Edric walked inside cautiously, unsure of what to expect. 

It was a small room, a lone desk beladen with papers standing tall in the middle. The air was musty, as if this part of the fortress hadn’t been used in some time.  _ It probably hasn’t, _ he thought darkly, remembering how recently the Templars had been living here. 

A man stood before him, a heavy helmet obscuring his face. More Templars stood behind him, stationed at various points throughout the small chamber. Odd, that, Edric noted. Why were there so many soldiers? It didn’t exactly bode well for their supposedly cordial peace talks. 

Judging from the look on her face, Cassandra was similarly leery. “Why are there so many of them?” she whispered, eyes darting from one Templar to the next. “Is this supposed to be intimidating? And where is the Lord Seeker?”

Edric looked down at her sharply. “He’s not here?”

“That is not him,” she replied, indicating the man before them. “He is much too tall. Lucius is of middling height.”

_ This is wrong, _ he thought, hand moving reflexively to grip his sword.  _ This is very, very wrong. _

“What is the meaning of this?” 

Their group turned as Barris entered the room, an outraged expression on his face. “Where is the Lord Seeker?” the Templar demanded. “This was to be a peaceful meeting!” 

“Peace,” the tall Templar spat. “Is that what you think this is?”

“The Lord Seeker  _ agreed _ to this meeting,” Barris reminded him. “And you would take his place and ambush our guests?” 

“There’s been a… slight change of plans.” The masked man chuckled; it was a harsh, grating sound to Edric’s ears, unpleasant and thoroughly unnerving. He widened his stance a bit, settling into a more naturally defensive posture. Beside him, Cassandra did the same. 

The Templar turned towards Edric then, eyes glittering underneath the slit in his helmet. Edric frowned; there was something odd about them… something uncanny… 

“I’m afraid he can’t be bothered with the likes of you, but the Lord Seeker sends his regards!” 

Quicker than Edric would have thought possible, the Templar drew his longsword and leaped over the table, the blade aimed right at his exposed throat. It was instinct that saved him, long years as a warrior and his body’s strength reacting before he could think, raising his own sword up to parry the attack. All around them, fighting broke out as the other Templars followed their leader’s example. 

The leader darted away after Edric met his attack, dancing around to his side before lunging to swipe at his side. Edric grunted; the man was strong! Far stronger than his tall, wiry frame suggested. He kept to the defensive, hoping the Templar would wear himself out with his incessant swings. 

It worked - he could soon hear the man’s heavy breathing through his helmet, and his swings became sluggish. Yet still, he fought on like a man possessed. 

_ I need to end this soon, _ Edric thought to himself, ignoring the sweat dripping down onto his face.  _ He’s tiring, but so am I. _ He began to look for an opening, some weakness in the other’s onslaught that he could exploit. 

The man slipped on a patch of blood-soaked hay as he made another lunge, and Edric saw his chance. He drew his sword back in a two-handed grip and slashed out at the man’s neck as he fell, the blow knocking the man’s head clear from his shoulders. The force knocked the helmet away, revealing the man’s face for the first time that day as the head rolled to a stop a few feet away. When Edric saw the eyes, he felt sick to his stomach.

Red. Red lyrium. Poison.

A cold fury gripped him then as his fears were realized. Lucius had given these men tainted lyrium, corrupted them into monsters. No wonder the man had seemed to possess a supernatural drive to kill him! 

Edric turned to find his companions finishing off the rest of the Templars. He was pleased to notice that Ser Barris had fought with them, his face grim as he cleaned his sword off on a fallen Templar standard. Perhaps there would be more friendly Templars inside the rest of the keep. If they could get to those men and women and save them… but how many had already been corrupted by Lucius? 

He looked to the bodies that littered the floor. Some had red eyes, like the man he had killed, while others were afflicted with dark red, pulsating veins. All had a sickly, tainted appearance. Even more concerning were those that had strange, crystalline protrusions poking out of their skin; did the lyrium  _ grow _ on people then? The thought disturbed him. 

Cassandra made her way over to him, her face murderous. “What has he done to them?” she demanded of Barris, also moving towards them. 

“I don’t know,” he said helplessly, looking down at his fellow Templars with disgust. “I haven’t seen anything like this!”

“You have never seen red lyrium?”

“Is that what this is?” Barris asked. “ _ Lyrium _ ?” 

“It is tainted,” Edric replied. “We first discovered it in Kirkwall. It’s many times more powerful than standard lyrium, but with devastating effects. As you can see,” he said, using the toe of his boot to roll one of the fallen Templars over onto his back, grimacing at the crystalline spikes erupting from his face. 

“Lucius must have given it to them,” Cassandra continued. She raised an eyebrow at Barris. “You have not heard of this, or seen it?”

“Not once,” the man replied, shaking his head. “But then… Lucius did not trust me. Not after I challenged him in Val Royeaux.” His expression shifted then, and he turned to Edric hurriedly. “He must have kept the red lyrium from those not in his favor. There are others that will have not been exposed then! We must find them!”

“I agree,” Edric said, nodding. 

“Eh, Boss?” Edric looked up to see the Iron Bull, a Qunari mercenary who’d recently joined the Inquisition, standing at the door to the room. He was peering out into the courtyard, the hand on his war-axe tightening. “We’ve got company.”

He walked over to join the Qunari. Sure enough, he could hear a faint clamor the closer he got to the open space - the sound of soldiers rallying to defend themselves. That didn’t bode well; had Lucius readied them to attack even before the Inquisition had arrived? Was this all an elaborate trap?

Edric turned back to Barris. “Do you know where they’ll be?” he asked. 

“If the corrupted Templars have attacked, then it’s impossible to say,” the Templar replied grimly. “If they were alone… I fear they will have been killed. But some may have been able to regroup and provide a defense.”

“Is there a spot we can hold?” Bull suggested. “A room, or a hall, or something?”

“The Great Hall!” Barris suggested. “There’s a path that loops around the fortress that should let us avoid the main thoroughfares.”

Edric nodded. “Then let’s get there,” he said. Turning on his heel, he moved back to the Inquisition soldiers who’d stayed in the courtyard. There were signs of a battle here as well, several bodies lying prone on the flagstones. He grimaced when he saw how many Inquisition men there were compared to the few fallen Templars.

_ How can lyrium make a man so powerful? _

He beckoned to the man he’d placed in charge of the soldiers. “Are you alright?” he asked. 

“Yes, ser!” The soldier replied. “Eight casualties, and seven injured, but we’ve maintained control of this area.”

“Get the nobles back to the camp, and have the Chargers help in setting up a defensive perimeter,” Edric ordered. “Then inform Josephine of what’s happened. She’ll know how to calm people down.”

“What about the courtyard, ser?”

“The camp is more important,” Edric said, shaking his head. “Have a few men positioned at the entrance to keep our retreat open, but if the Templars attempt to draw you in,  _ withdraw. _ ” 

“Yes, ser!” 

The soldier retreated to begin following his orders, and Edric returned to his companions. Each of them was standing at the ready, guarding the entrances to the room. Barris and Cassandra were standing at an unopened door at the back end of the chamber, their conversation quick and animated. He motioned for Vivienne and Iron Bull to follow him as he headed in their direction. 

“This is it,” Cassandra announced as he approached. She gestured at the door. “This will lead us to the Great Hall.”

“It will be dangerous,” Barris added. “There are several points where we will be scaling the ramparts. Lucius has likely put men there to watch us, and prevent us from moving forward.”

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Edric replied. “Is it far?”

“Not very.” 

“Good. If we hurry, we can catch them before they have a chance to corral the uncorrupted Templars in. If we see any in route, they may join us. If we don’t see them, we’ll have to send out a search team while another group defends the hall.”

“We are ready, Edric,” Vivienne announced, her staff curving in her grip. “Lead onward.”

“Yeah, Boss,” Bull agreed, hefting his axe. “Just point the way. I’ll smash ‘em to bits.”

Edric nodded, pleased at their readiness.

“And what if find Lucius?” Cassandra asked. “What will we do with him?”

Edric hesitated - what  _ did _ they do with the Lord Seeker? Should they attempt to take him prisoner? They didn’t have the manpower to keep watch over him  _ and _ fight the corrupted Templars. Did that mean that they should simply kill him? No, that was not fair. Whatever his crimes, he deserved some sort of chance to explain himself. Perhaps Leliana could even wheedle some key information out of him. Yes, they needed to take him alive.

“Do not kill him,” he said finally. “Take him alive.”

“And if he resists?” 

“Then see to it that he  _ stops. _ ”

Bull chuckled. “I like the sound of that,” he murmured. 

Vivienne rolled her eyes. “May we be on our way?” she asked. “There is no time to spare.”

Edric nodded, motioning for Barris to lead the way. 

“Let’s go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) As always, a huge thank-you to my pal bushviper for beta-ing this for me <3 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you thought of the chapter, if you'd like to leave a comment :)


	17. Into Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn and Dorian confront Alexius, and Edric gets more than he bargained for when confronting the Lord Seeker.

The dungeons were empty. 

It was surprising to Evelyn. She had expected the cells to be filled with people who had gone against Alexius, or at least those who had been imprisoned before the magister had taken over the village. But no one was there, cell doors hanging listlessly off hinges and iron shackles lying on the floor in disuse. The silence was deafening; she wasn’t sure she liked this empty dungeon any better than she would have liked a full one. 

Blackwall had scouted ahead, his sword and shield at the ready. He returned to the rest of the group now, a puzzled look on his face. “I found the way out of the dungeons,” he said quietly, nodding back over his shoulder. “It’s a straight shot up to the main floor.”

“Any guards?” Hawke asked. 

“Not a one, not even outside the dungeons,” the Grey Warden replied. “I don’t like it. This magister has to have men with him. Where could they be?”

“Perhaps he is keeping them back for protection,” Dorian mused. “He does think very highly of himself.” 

“Well, he is from Tevinter,” Hawke muttered. 

“ _ I  _ am self-confident,” Dorian asserted. “Alexius is foolhardy, and desperate. There’s a difference, Champion.”

“You can antagonize the mage later, Hawke,” Varric interjected. “Preferably once we’re out of this place.”

“Aye, we should keep going,” Blackwall agreed. 

They all looked to Evelyn for the final assent. With a hesitant nod, she stepped forward and motioned for the Grey Warden to lead the way. Her other companions fell in step behind her, weapons at the ready in case they  _ did _ run into someone. 

It was as Blackwall said, though - the hallways were just as empty as the dungeons. The castle seemed completely devoid of people. Evelyn found her worry growing the farther they went; had something gone wrong? Perhaps they were too late, and the magister had already left for Tevinter. Or perhaps Alexius knew they were there, and was planning an ambush for them, a trap to be set off the moment they stepped foot in the wrong room. Neither was particularly appealing. 

As if he could sense her discomfort, Hawke found his way to her side. He took a glance at her after they rounded yet another unguarded corner. “So tell me, are we heading towards certain doom, or is that just my intuition being acutely pessimistic?” His tone was jovial, but she could tell from the taut set of his mouth that he was just as tense as she was.

“It’s so… quiet,” she replied. It was an obvious remark, but she found she couldn’t think of much else to say. The empty halls spoke for themselves.

“I don’t like quiet. When things are loud, you know exactly what’s coming for you. But when things are quiet, you never know what to expect.”

She nodded. “It makes me uneasy.” 

He shot her a smirk. “Now do you understand what I meant when I said I felt like shitting myself?”

Despite her trepidation, she snorted. “No,” she said flatly. “I said I felt uneasy, not sick to my stomach.”

“Sometimes they’re one and the same.” 

They quieted, having reached a grand set of wooden doors set deep into the stone walls. Dorian took a step forward, putting a hand out to touch the wood. “These must lead into the main hall,” he mused.

“Is that where Alexius is, do you think?” Blackwall asked.

“Perhaps,” the mage allowed. “I-” He broke off suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he pressed his ear to the wood. 

“What is it?” 

“Shhh!” For several moments, Dorian was still. Then, abruptly, he pulled back, walking back over to where the rest of them waited with bated breath. “Alexius is in there. I recognize his voice.” He paused, reaching up to palm his chin in thought. “He was arguing with someone - a woman. I don’t recognize her voice, but if I had to guess, I would say she’s Orlesian.” 

“Fiona,” Evelyn guessed. “Could you hear what they were arguing about?”

“She’s concerned,” the mage replied. “She mentioned something about children being unfit to go to war, and a promise that they would be able to serve in other capacities.” He lifted a carefully manicured eyebrow. “Does any of that make sense to you?”

It was Hawke who answered his question, his knowledge of the mage rebellion greater than Evelyn’s own. “When the mages rebelled, many took their apprentices with them,” he said quietly. “It would have been irresponsible to just let them go off on their own, with little formal training. Some of them are likely… very young.”

“But they were included in her deal with the devil,” Varric interjected. 

“Now, now, Varric, he’s a political opportunist, not a demon dressed in mage robes,” Dorian tutted. He paused, frowning. “That being said, of course, I do believe he’s attempting to create a military force out of the southern mages. That likely includes any and all children the mages would have had with them.”

“Despicable,” Blackwall spat, the idea clearly putting a bad taste in his mouth. 

“Heinous indeed,” Dorian agreed. “But it also gives us the chance to exploit this dissent among the ranks. Perhaps if we go in there now and support this woman, she will see fit to change her allegiance.”

“What?” Hawke asked. “You want to just barge in there and make a scene?” 

“You take issue with the plan?” Dorian replied. “I thought you would approve - I specifically tailored it to your style.”

“Oh, no, I wholeheartedly approve,” Hawke said, shaking his head. “I’m simply surprised  _ you’re _ suggesting this plan and not me. It’s rather direct. I thought you’d be more likely to suggest some form of subtle, sneaky attack from behind.” 

Dorian snorted. “This isn’t a dinner party, Hawke,” he said flatly. “Though I do fancy myself somewhat audacious.” 

Varric decided to step in then before things got more heated. “Alright, children, let’s stop flirting and get to business,” he said dryly, motioning towards the door. “Do we have a more detailed plan, or this really just a door-buster?”

“Flirting?” Hawke repeated, ignoring Varric’s attempts to guide the conversation back to their current predicament. “You think  _ that _ was flirting?” He turned to Evelyn, scowling. “Surely my technique is better than I’m being given credit for, yes?”

“I take offense as well,” Dorian remarked flippantly. “When I flirt with a man, he  _ knows  _ he is being courted.” 

“He?” Blackwall asked, looking at the mage askance.

“Oh, come now, don’t pretend to be shocked,” he snapped back irritably. He huffed out a frustrated breath and then turned back to the door. “As to your question, Master Tethras, I believe I shall lead - with Evelyn at my side, of course. We will occupy his attention, leaving the rest of you free to take up more advantageous positions along the sides of the room.”

“And if there are guards?” 

Dorian looked to Evelyn, who merely shrugged. “Do what you think is best,” she replied, uneasy at the thought of unknown lives in her hands. How was she to decide what her companions were to do with their enemies? Why was she the judge of that? 

Varric nodded, seeming to approve of her ambiguous orders. “Do we have any sort of talking points to go over, or we just… winging it?” he asked. He eyed the group speculatively and then chuckled to himself. “On second thought, never mind. I can guess what the answer to that question would be.”

“Now, Varric, that’s hardly fair,” Hawke replied. “When have I ever done something without thinking it over first?”

“Every day of your life, I’m guessing.”

“Not at all! I certainly thought twice before we fought that dragon in the Bone Pit!”

“We must be remembering that little trip differently then. I seem to recall you  _ rushing _ the damn thing.”

“Yes, but I  _ thought _ about it for at least five seconds first,” Hawke replied. 

Varric merely rolled his eyes in response. 

“As it so happens, I  _ do _ have some things I’ve planned to say,” Dorian piped up then. He shot a dark glance in the direction of the doors. “It’s been far too long since I’ve last seen Alexius. I’ve found that I have many things to discuss with him, and very few of them are pleasant.”

Evelyn stepped up to join the mage at the front of their group. “You target Alexius then,” she suggested. “I’ll attempt to persuade Fiona to change her allegiance. She knows me, at least.”

“You’ve met the leader of the mage rebellion?” Dorian asked, his hostility fading in his surprise.

“Just once,” she said quickly, “When we first came to Redcliffe. But she’ll remember me.” She doubted the woman could forget, considering what a disaster that meeting had been. 

He nodded, not questioning her. “Alright. We’ll double-team them.”

Evelyn looked over her shoulder at the rest of her companions. “Are you ready?” 

It seemed a foolish question to ask when her own pulse was hammering through her veins. She hardly felt prepared for what they were about to do; how could she expect her friends to be? But they stood confidently behind her, trusting in her to lead them through this. That raw faith in her gave her pause for a moment, allowing her a few seconds of peace she hadn’t thought to get. She smiled faintly, grateful for the reprieve, and when Hawke tipped his head towards her, the barest of grins on his lips, she returned her attention to the doors before her. 

“Let’s go,” she said firmly, gripping her staff a little tighter as she raised it up before her. “We have mages to free.”

*

“Dammit, Bull, watch where you swing that thing!” Edric roared, turning to glare at the Qunari who’d just nearly taken his head off. 

The mercenary grinned sheepishly, hefting his bloody war axe guiltily. “Sorry, Boss,” he said. He looked down at the body of the Templar that he had just killed; the man was abnormally large, his body twisted beyond recognition by the red lyrium. And by the force of Bull’s swing, Edric was forced to admit. The Qunari’s initial blow had staggered the man, and his second had almost shorn him in two, armor and all. He was a formidable foe on the battlefield, one Edric was glad was on his side. 

“Come on,” he muttered, moving quickly to catch up to where Cassandra and Vivienne were holding off a group of soldiers farther up the ramparts. “We’re needed elsewhere.”

They moved as fast as they could over the wooden structures, having to take cover several times to avoid being hit by an onslaught of arrows. Several glanced off Edric’s armor in moments of careless movement, which only served to increase his frustration as they continued to fight to reach the Great Hall. 

His ire was mirrored on Cassandra’s face. She dispatched a Templar easily just as the two of them rejoined the group, jerking her sword from the fallen man’s chest with a disgusted grunt. Vivienne blasted the remaining man with a searing jolt of lightning, allowing them a moment’s rest as they regrouped. 

“How are there so many of them?” Cassandra demanded angrily, looking around warily for would-be assailants. “How many Templars has Lucius corrupted?”

“Watch out!” 

Out of nowhere, Barris leapt forward, tackling Cassandra to the ground. The breath was driven from her lungs in an angry burst as she hit the ground. She twisted around, a quick retort on her lips, when she saw the arrows embedded in his shield. One had pierced the metal entirely, having just barely missed Barris’ forearm.

“We cannot stay here,” Vivienne quickly assessed, throwing up a barrier around herself and Bull - the only members of their group without a shield. “It is too exposed!”

“It’s not far now!” Barris exclaimed, continuing to move down the path.

Edric nodded, bringing his shield out to protect himself as they crossed the open area. Cassandra did the same, naturally falling into position at his side as they moved farther into the castle. She kept looking at him from the corner of her eye; when he caught her the third time, she flushed and pointedly said, “You are wounded.” 

He looked down at the shallow gash on his forearm. The vambrace that had been protecting the limb had been crushed when he’d rolled out of the way of an oncoming blow. He’d thrown it away rather than attempt to salvage it. Unfortunately, that had left the area vulnerable. It wasn’t a bad wound though; it looked worse than it was, the blood flow mostly staunched by now. He’d had enough injuries to know which ones were serious and which could be ignored. 

“I was careless,” he replied, pushing his shield up just in time to stop an arrow aimed at his skull. His arm thrummed from the impact, but the wood held. 

“Do not be,” she snapped. He was taken aback by the vehemence in her voice, but said nothing of it. He hadn’t the time to give it thought.

Barris paused as they passed through an entryway into an empty courtyard, a strange fog filling the area. He looked around cautiously, assessing whether or not the area was safe, before finally flagging them through. “The Great Hall is just up the stairs,” he said, panting. “We made it.”

“This is the only way in?” Bull asked.

“From the outside,” Barris confirmed. “All of the other entrances are from the main keep.”

“Yet there’s no guards,” the Qunari continued, his eye glittering suspiciously. 

“Perhaps they have pulled back to regroup,” Cassandra suggested, hefting her sword in her hands. 

“Or maybe we’ve killed more than we thought,” Edric offered. The thought saddened him - so much death, and for no reason. Lucius would pay for this. He would see to that personally. 

“Whichever is true, we must press onwards,” Vivienne reminded them. “And keep your senses sharp.” She strode forward a few steps, mist swirling at her ankles. “I can feel something.”

“What is it? More of those… those red Templars?” Cassandra asked, struggling to find a name for their corrupted brethren.

“No,” the mage said, shaking her head. “This is no Templar, corrupted or otherwise.” She took the lead as they began to climb the steps to the hall, her steps cautious and quiet. “The Veil was thin before - here, it is in tatters. Something evil lurks nearby.”

“A demon,” the Seeker breathed. She looked at the mage sharply. “What type? Can you tell?”

To Edric’s surprise, Vivienne chuckled. “Does it matter?” she replied. When Cassandra did not answer, she continued, “I cannot tell whether it is a spirit of despair, or pride, or anger, no. It is hiding from us; it does not wish to be known. But it hardly seems to matter what type of devil it is. We must fight it all the same.”  

The plaza at the top of the stairs was just as silent as the courtyard below, and just as empty. Several ornamental trees offered a sparse bit of decoration, but even these looked malnourished and sickly with their naked branches. The air was oppressive here, thick with more than just fog. A quick glance at his companions told Edric that they felt it too. 

“Onward,” he murmured, taking the lead from Vivienne as he climbed the final staircase to the Great Hall. “We must push onward.”

_ Yes. _

He almost missed a step at the voice that spoke inside his mind. He looked up sharply, half-expecting to see someone. But the yard remained empty. 

_ I am here. _

“Who are you?” Edric demanded crossly, raising his sword as he climbed the last few steps. “Show yourself!”

“Edric,” Cassandra said worriedly. “What are you doing?”

He looked back at her, confused. “You cannot hear his voice?”

She blinked. “Whose voice?”

_I am not speaking to them._ _Only you can hear me._

“Coward,” Edric spat. “Come out and show your face!”

_But why? It is_ ** _you_** _who have invaded my demesne,_ ** _you_** _who have caused such destruction in your wake._

“You would speak of destruction?” Edric demanded. “ _ You _ ? Aren’t you to blame for  _ this _ ?” He swept his hands wide, indicating the castle and its corrupted inhabitants. “Aren’t you the reason they’re dying?”

_ They took the lyrium willingly from their leader. I forced them into nothing. _

Again, Cassandra called out to him, attempting to bring him back. But the demon in his head - for surely that was what this fell creature was - had captured his attention, and he would not be swayed. 

“Why are you doing this? For what purpose?”

A low chuckle met his ears. It made the hair on the back of his neck rise.

“Were you behind the explosion at the Conclave as well? How many lives have you taken?”

_ You mistake my purpose. I care nothing for the Elder One’s plans - my goals are my own, and only my own. _

“The Elder One?”

The door to the Great Hall creaked open and Edric tensed, preparing himself for an attack. None was immediately forthcoming. He dared not relax, however, lest he be caught unprepared. Behind him, he could hear his companions falling into their battle stances, ready to aid him if necessary. 

A moment later, a figure emerged that he did not expect. His eyes narrowed, hate filling him as the pompous leader of the Templars strode out to meet him, a smug smirk on the man’s face. He found himself desperately wanting to smack it off. 

“Lucius,” he snapped.

“Once.” 

The man’s voice gave Edric pause. It was the same as the voice that had spoken in his mind - cold and slippery, with a distinctly inhuman quality to it. It was  _ not _ the voice of the leader of the Seekers of Truth. 

“You are not the Lord Seeker,” he judged, lifting his sword higher.

“I am not,” the creature agreed. He took a step forward, beginning to close the distance between the two of them. “I wear his face because it helps me get closer to what I want.” 

“What you want?” Edric demanded. Again, they were back to that - what did this creature want from them? “Speak clearly, demon!”

“Is it not obvious?” the demon drawled. It sounded… bored. Suddenly, it lunged forward, grabbing at Edric’s face with vise-like fingers. It smiled at him, a terrible smile with jagged teeth, skin tearing at the corners of the mouth as the creature’s lips stretched wide. “I want  _ you. _ ”

Though he was the larger of the two, Edric found himself unable to move, his vision blurring at the edges. He found it hard to breathe, harder still to think as he struggled helplessly against the monster. Vaguely, he heard yelling behind him, but he could not comprehend it as the world began to fade to black around him. He tried to reach out, for Cassandra, for Vivienne, for anyone, but it was no use. His body would not respond to his commands. 

And then there was silence, his mind severed from his body, alone in a darkness he did not know.

The demon was still there - though he could not see it, he could  _ feel _ its presence, like a filmy layer of oil atop water. It seemed to study him for a moment, pausing ever so slightly before renewing its onslaught against him. He struggled wordlessly against the flash of pain that hit him, against the insidious claws in his head. It was trying to ferret out his secrets, his passions, the inner workings of what made him  _ him _ . He could not give in!

_ What kind of blighted demon is this? _ he wondered, dismayed even as he continued to fight back against the attack. 

The thing chuckled, able to sense his thoughts without his voicing of them. 

_ Get out of my head!  _ he cried, imagining walls around his mind, keeping the demon out. It seemed to be working, the pain lessening for a moment, but then the pressure returned, double the intensity, and his fragile mental walls came crumbling down. 

_ It will take more than that to stop me, _ his enemy whispered. 

Edric let out a furious yell, but no sound emerged from his mouth, for he had no mouth with which to scream. Frustrated, he pushed back at the demon with all his might, just barely forcing it away. It was so  _ strong, _ its grip on his mind tightening with every second that he struggled. Perhaps he wasn’t strong enough to defeat this thing. Perhaps he wasn’t enough. 

He felt rather than heard the surge of triumph that went through the demon at his panicked thought. It gripped him tighter then, sensing its imminent victory. 

_ No, you must fight it! _

A new voice spoke to him then - a mournful, childlike voice. It was as unfamiliar to him as the demon’s, and yet there was something quite different about it. 

_ You! _ the demon raged.  _ Get away from him! _

_ He is not yours to take! _ the new voice asserted. 

_ He is mine! _

_ No! _

Suddenly, the pressure stopped, blessed silence in its place. Edric gasped in relief, sucking huge breaths of air into his lungs. Then, surprised at the act of being able to breathe again, he opened his eyes, revealing a shadowy room lit with eerie green torches. He was on his hands and knees atop a bed of dewy grass, and his clammy skin was beading in the cool mist that permeated the room. 

He looked around, attempting to ascertain where he was. But this was not a place had had ever been before. It seemed… unreal.

“Are you alright?” 

_ That voice! _

It was the voice from earlier, the one who had told him to fight. Its owner was a young man, pale blonde hair falling into lambent gray eyes. He wore simple clothes, stitched together in places to keep them from falling apart, and a large, wide-brimmed hat. Twin daggers hung at his waist, looking oddly out of place on the youthful frame. 

Edric nodded, pushing himself to his feet. “I… I think I am fine,” he said shakily. He looked down to assess the statement, checking for wounds. But there were none to be found, not even the ones he had taken in the earlier fighting. “Where is this place? What happened?”

“Not there, not where you were, but not  _ there _ either, not quite, not yet.” The boy began to pace, not meeting Edric’s eyes as he moved about the room. “Startled him, made him retreat, but not defeated, no, not yet.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Edric said quietly. 

“Doesn’t it?” Abruptly, the boy turned and stared directly at him. “You must fight him. He wants you. He wants to wear your face. I didn’t let him, didn’t  _ want _ him to do that. But it’s your head - you have to push him out.” 

“We’re… inside my mind?” Edric guessed.

“Yes.”

“Because of the demon.”

The boy shuddered. “He is evil,” he whispered. “He wants to hurt you. I can hear him - muttering to himself, all of the time. Talking about what he plans to do to you.” 

“I won’t let him win,” Edric replied fiercely. He said it as much for himself as to reassure the boy. 

“You can’t. Then he will wear your face.”

“Wear my-”

“I am Cole. I will help you if I can.” 

Edric nodded. “Thank you, Cole,” he replied. “But I don’t know what to do.”

“Run - find the exit. This is your head - you have to push him out. He hasn’t the power he thinks he does.”

What type of demon could force its way into a human’s way like this? Edric had never heard of the like before. He found that that frightened him. Pride, anger, despair… these were all common demons, ones he had dealt with in his time as a Templar, and again serving the Inquisition. But none of them had ever done  _ this. _

“Who is he?” he asked quietly. “Who is doing this to me?”

“Envy.”

_He wants to wear your face._ _He wants you._

Abruptly, a sharp crack split the air around them. Cole looked up in surprise, and then vanished, leaving Edric alone. “Wait!” he cried out, even as he knew that the other wouldn’t hear him. “Cole!” 

_ Run! _

The spirit - if that was what Cole truly was - spoke to him again, urging him onward. Edric did not question the command this time, setting off through the mist as fast as his legs would carry him. At his back, he could feel the pressure from before returning, a dark wave of energy threatening to consume him again. 

“You cannot hide from me.” The envy demon’s sonorous voice carried over the entire area now, filled with a dark humor. It was as if Edric’s attempts to thwart it were amusing. Edric scowled and threw himself through a door that appeared before him. He slammed it shut, turning to lock it with shaking fingers.

_ Run! _

“I see you!”

Edric pushed onward, fighting the fatigue that plagued him. He stumbled past a table and chairs, past more torches filled with the same eerie light, until he reached another door. He yanked it open and entered the next room, and then the next, and the next, and the next. It seemed that the path was never-ending, and he found himself growing disheartened. Cole had said that there was an exit, but where was it? Was he missing something? What was he supposed to do? 

_ Run! _

* 

Hawke wasn’t the best at interpreting facial expressions. It just wasn’t something he’d ever been very good at. Of course, it did somewhat depend on the person whose expressions he was attempting to understand. 

Take Carver, for instance. His brother was delightfully simple to read - like a children’s book! 

Varric, on the other hand, was more like an arcane treatise from the Black Age. Technically, you  _ could _ understand it, but it would require a lot more information than you likely had available. 

Fenris was like a book written in a foreign language, something you had to learn to read. At first, it would be entirely unfamiliar, and you would make quite a few misinterpretations. But, as you learned the language, you slowly became accustomed to the different word patterns, and you began to pick up on things you hadn’t noticed before. 

Evelyn… well, he hadn’t quite decided what type of book Evelyn would be. 

Gereon Alexius, on the other hand, was proving wonderfully similar to Carver. 

The magister’s face was blank with shock, his mouth drawn into an “o” of surprise. Fiona, standing across from him, appeared equally as startled, though much more cognizant of the situation, given how her eyes kept darting around the room like she were looking for an escape route. The few other men in the room had grabbed their weapons as soon as the doors had opened, but without ensuing orders, they had delayed action, and now they were cornered. 

Finally, the magister came to his feet, pointed hood falling back to reveal a wrinkled face and thinning hairline. He didn’t seem to notice, eyes fixed upon Dorian at their front. “Dorian,” he breathed, taking a step forward. “I… I did not expect to find you here.”

“I had not thought to be here,” Dorian replied. He paused, considering his former mentor for a moment. “Though I must admit, were  _ you _ not here, I would have remained in Minrathous.” 

“I told no one of my departure,” Alexius said, frowning. “How did you - ah.” His eyes flicked over to his son, standing by the hearth. Hawke noticed then that Felix hadn’t drawn any weapons; nor did he look terribly surprised. If anything, he appeared… hopeful? Was that right? Hawke thought that was right. 

“Father, I did what I thought was best,” Felix announced, moving towards the magister. He shook his head. “This is not right - you know it is not.”

“It is the only way!” Alexius snapped. He turned back towards Dorian. “I do not expect you to understand.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Dorian disagreed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You trained me yourself, Alexius. I understand  _ exactly _ how you think. It’s your conclusions that I disagree with, not your hypothesis.”

“It’s not a hypothesis!” the magister said hotly. “I have seen it! You left my tutelage before even I truly understood what the Elder One has promised us. You don’t know - you can’t know! But I do.” He glanced at Felix again. “I know what can be done.”

Felix groaned. “Father, enough of this!” he said. “Do  _ not _ make this about me! I want no part of this!”

“You can be saved, Felix!”

“I  _ can’t _ !” The vehemence in Felix’s voice startled Alexius, who blinked in the face of his son’s anger. “What you want to happen cannot be done, Father. It is foolish to try. Do not attempt it, please.”

For a moment, it appeared that Alexius was considering the plea. Hawke watched curiously as the man’s face shifted, contorting from pain to contemplation, and then finally to resettling peacefully into a calmer, resolved look. 

Felix’s face fell.

“I will do as I must,” Alexius announced. He looked towards Fiona. “Gather your people. We must leave at once.”

Fiona balked. “We cannot!” she exclaimed. “You promised us days to prepare! We haven’t had the time to gather provisions!” 

“Things change,” the magister snapped.    


“My people will die if you force this upon us!”

“They will die anyways,” Evelyn said suddenly, springing forward. Fiona turned towards her, anger clear on her face. But Evelyn did not waver, nor did she look at Alexius, studying her with a scrutinous eye. “You must know this, Fiona. He doesn’t care about your people - they’re just tools for him! He will never protect you!”

“And you will?” Fiona asked, snorting. “The Inquisition will see us saved from harm’s way?” She shook her head. “I do not think so, Herald. You would make us tools as much as he would.” 

“That isn’t true,” Evelyn replied. 

“Then why has the Inquisition marched on Therinfal Redoubt?” Alexius asked slyly. “Why has your brother abandoned my offer for parlance?”

“Probably because he saw it for what it was,” Evelyn snapped at the magister. “A pathetic ruse to draw him in and slit his throat!”

“If he cannot handle politics, then perhaps he should have stayed in Kirkwall.”

Evelyn was furious. That much, Hawke could easily see - she looked as if she wanted to punch the magister in the face. Luckily, she didn’t attempt it. Instead, she turned back to Fiona, recognizing Alexius was purposefully trying to anger her. 

“I’m not the Inquisition,” she said firmly. “I’m not here because of them.”

“So you do not even have the authority to make any promises!” Alexius tutted. “Pity.”

“I can protect you,” Evelyn insisted. 

“How?” Fiona demanded. She shook her head. “I want to believe you, Herald, but you are one girl standing against the might of an organization that has chosen to side with the Templars. How could you possibly protect us mages?”

“Because I’m one of you!” Evelyn said fervently. “I can - I  _ will _ vouch for you!”

Fiona shook her head sadly. “You are not one of us, Herald,” she replied. “You are a mage - but you are not a mage like us.”

The words hit Evelyn like a slap in the face. Hawke could see the pain written there, mirroring the pain her brother had inflicted upon her by saying the same thing mere days before. He hated to see it affect her thus, took half a step forward to go to her - but Varric grabbed his side, and kept him back, shaking his head. Hawke scowled down at the dwarf. “What are you doing?” he whispered furiously. 

“Not yet,” Varric murmured.

Still frowning, Hawke looked back up just in time to catch Evelyn’s reply.

“Perhaps I am not,” she allowed, “but I can still protect you. The Inquisition needs me. I’m the only one who can seal the rifts. They will accept an alliance with the mages. They will accept it, or I will leave.”

“You would leave your brother?” Fiona asked uncertainly. “And abandon Thedas?”

“Of course not!” This time, Varric let Hawke go when he went to stand by Evelyn’s side. “Abandoning Thedas would be an act of cowardice, and the Trevelyans are no cowards.” He looked over to Evelyn, who was studying him curiously with her viridian eyes. “She would continue to seal the rifts, on her own, if need be. But she wouldn’t be alone. I’d go with her.”

“Champion,” Fiona said, recognizing him instantly. It must have been the beard, he decided. 

“If Evelyn leaves the Inquisition, then so do I,” he added. 

He was hoping that that would be enough to sway Fiona. Did she believe that the Inquisition couldn’t survive without the two of them? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps it wasn’t even a compelling argument, but it was something. And every little bit helped, or so his mother had always told him. 

“You would do that… for us?” Fiona asked slowly. “Though you do not know us?”

“Yes,” Evelyn replied. “I swear it.”

“You would not throw us back in the Circles as soon as you are done with us?”

“I…” Evelyn hesitated, and Alexius jumped at the opportunity to harangue her. 

“You haven’t the authority to make that sort of decision,” he announced. He turned back to Fiona. “This girl makes wild claims, Fiona, but that is all they are -  _ claims. _ She cannot promise you anything.”

Fiona shot him a glare. “Apparently, neither can you,” she spat. “I cannot even have two days to gather my people with you.”

“Circumstances change.”

“Indeed.” Fiona turned back to Evelyn. “They do.”

Hawke surged with elation at her words. Had it worked? Was the plan a success? Judging from Alexius’ apoplectic expression, their risk might have paid off! He grinned, sensing an imminent victory. 

“You cannot do this!” Alexius barked. “We had a contract!”

“Contracts can be broken, Alexius,” Dorian reminded him. “As I seem to recall, you’ve broken an agreement that  _ we _ had not to use forbidden time magic.”

“Time magic?” Fiona gaped. “What is this?”

“It’s funny that you mention time,” the magister said quietly, glaring at the lot of them. “Had you arrived just minutes after this, you would have found an empty room. Had you arrived minutes earlier, you would have found more men than you could possibly hope to fight off.” 

“Time is a peculiar thing,” Dorian allowed.

“And dangerous,” Alexius agreed. “I wonder…”

Dorian frowned as the magister drew something out of his pocket. Hawke narrowed his eyes, trying to discover what it was - a necklace, perhaps? An amulet of some kind? 

Before he figured it out though, a powerful blast of magic hit him, knocking him off his feet. Evelyn cried out as she hit the ground as well, her staff knocking into his shoulder painfully. Dorian was the only one of them who managed to remain on his feet, and he only just. 

There was a wild panic in his eyes as he stepped forward towards the magister. “No!” he cried. “Don’t-!”

The air cracked and rippled around them, an unbearable pressure building inside Hawke’s head until he felt as if it would burst. He grit his teeth and forced himself up, trying to see what was going on. 

Dorian had managed to fight the magic, taking a few more steps towards Alexius.

But it was no use. The magic’s pull was too strong.

“I’m sorry, my old friend,” the magister said quietly. “It must be done.”

With a roar, the spell was completed, and Hawke felt himself jerk violently off the ground. Evelyn and Dorian were similarly affected, pulled in an opposite direction. “Evelyn!” He cried, attempting to grab her hand before they were too far apart. But the magic’s strength flung them away from each other, out of reach.

Hawke recognized the release of pressure that signified the end of the spell, accompanied by a small, popping sound. Seconds later, he fell to the floor, hard, knees knocking painfully against the stone. Gasping at the sudden pain, he looked up, attempting to orient himself. 

He wasn’t in the same room as before. Instead, he found himself in a crumbling room beneath a swirling, green sky. Looking at it for too long made his head hurt. “That doesn’t look good,” he muttered, and with a frown, he pushed himself to his feet. He was a bit staggered from the magic still, stumbling as he made for the door. It swung open easily at the lightest of touches, the wood rotted to the core. 

“Evelyn?” he called out, hoping against hope that she and Dorian had landed somewhere nearby. “Dorian?”

There was no answer. 

With a reluctant sigh, he set off down what appeared to be the ruins of a hallway. It was hard to tell, though - the walls were literally falling apart, bricks and mortar heaped in piles along the sides. Dirt and blood spattered the walls in equal measure, whatever decorations that might have once hung there now gone. It made it difficult to keep track of where he was going, and he soon found himself hopelessly lost. 

“I  _ know  _ I recognize that pile of dirt,” he muttered.

He pressed on, trying to take as many right turns as possible, and none of the left passageways. He did seem to be going down - was that good? Wherever he was, it looked to be a castle of some sort. Down indicated that he was heading towards the ground. 

Sure enough, he soon arrived at a decrepit flight of stairs, spiraling down into darkness below him. He peered over the edge, trying to ascertain whether or not they were stable enough to walk upon. It was impossible to tell. With a shrug, he took a chance and stepped onto the first step. When it held his weight, he tried the next one. 

Hawke was lucky - the stairs held until he reached the bottom, though the second to last had crumbled a bit when he’d applied his weight to it. Relieved, he stepped out of the tower and out into sunlight. Well, he supposed that it wasn’t really sunlight. He couldn’t even see the sun for the green miasma in the sky. 

A thought hit him then. Was that… the  _ Breach?  _ It was everywhere! 

“This is not good,” he assessed, looking around. If that was the Breach, then it had spread to cover the entire sky. That meant that he was… sometime in the future. Had that been what Alexius had done? Thrown them all into the future? 

“Dammit!” he cursed. He needed to find Evelyn and Dorian, quickly. This new world was blighted and sickly; he wasn’t sure that he wanted to find out what monsters were lurking about. Wrapping his hands around his mouth to louden his voice, he cried out his companions’ names once more, hoping that this time they would be close enough to hear him. “Evelyn! Dorian!”

A faint scuttling sound met his ears. 

“Oh, that’s  _ really _ not good,” he sighed. He reached behind his back for his staff, preparing himself for a fight, when his fingers met empty air. Frowning, he looked back, trying to see what had become of his weapon - but it simply wasn’t there. It must have fallen off when he’d landed! 

He turned around just in time to see several skittering, bug-like creatures appear from over a ridge. They squealed in demonic delight upon noticing him, running towards him faster than he would have thought possible. 

“At least things can’t get any worse than this, right?” he asked, throwing magical fire at the monsters. It hit them straight-on, and their squeals turned into pained screeches. Grinning at his success, he launched more fire towards another pair of the bugs that had appeared across the way. 

But his luck soon ran out.

He flinched as the ground suddenly shook violently beneath him. Whirling about, he looked up just in time to see a massive demon jump into his path. It was as big as an ogre, jagged purple spikes on it shoulders and rows of sharp teeth in its gaping maw. It roared at him defiantly, purple lightning sparking off its skin. 

Well.

He’d been wrong. Things certainly  _ could  _ get worse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm taking a bit of a different approach to these quests, so I hope things are staying interesting! The next few chapters will be similar to this one, full of action and less steamy bits, but hey, the plot must go on, yes?
> 
> A big thanks as always to my pal bushviper for beta-ing this <3
> 
> As always, feedback is much appreciated :)


	18. The Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn and Dorian set off in search of Hawke and a ways of getting back to the present while Edric continues to battle the Envy demon.

Evelyn came to with a groan. 

There was a blinding ache in her head, a sure sign that she’d cracked her skull on something in her fall. She raised a tentative hand to her temple; it came away streaked with blood, and she winced. 

What had happened? The last thing she remembered had been Alexius casting that spell, and then Hawke had reached for her…  _ Hawke! _ Panic bubbled up in her throat like bile as she whirled around to look for him. The instant throbbing in her head had her near retching at the ensuing dizziness.

“Easy, now,” a calm voice murmured at her side. A steady hand came to rest upon her back, rubbing comforting circles between her shoulderblades. “Don’t move too fast.”

“Dorian,” she breathed, inhaling deeply through her nose. “What happened?”

“If I were to hazard a guess? We’ve been sent back in time. Or forward. It’s difficult to tell. Time magic is volatile at best, and for Alexius to use it in such a stressful situation?” The mage shook his head. “Foolish man!” 

“How do we get back to… now?” 

“Well.” Satisfied that she wasn’t going to get sick, the mage rose to his feet, examining their surroundings. It looked to be some kind of cellar, stone walls stacked with barrels and crates. A drain was opposite them, a small puddle of water pooling under the grate. Was this a part of the castle? Or had Alexius thrown them across space as well as time? Was that even possible? She looked up to Dorian expectantly, still waiting for his answer. “I’ll have to reverse the spell.”

“Can you do that?”

“Of course I can!” the mage replied. He turned back to Evelyn and held out a hand to her; she gingerly accepted it, swaying as she came to her feet. “But first we have to figure out  _ when _ we are.” 

“When? Not where?”

“No, we are still in Redcliffe,” Dorian said, shaking his head. “The magic only works to bend time.”

“I see. So if you can figure out when Alexius sent us, you can take us back. Or forward.” 

He shot her a winning smile over his shoulder. “Precisely,” he replied. His eyes drifted upwards. “How is your head feeling?” 

“It twinges a bit,” she admitted. She half-raised a hand to touch it again, but Dorian swatted it away. 

“Let me look at it,” he instructed. “It’s messy, but I believe it’s a shallow cut.” He stepped forward to inspect it more thoroughly. Evelyn was silent under his ministrations, only wincing once when his probing fingers quested too near the wound. 

He sighed and stepped back. “It’s times like this that I wish I had studied some healing magic,” he admitted. “Instead, I spent my days studying arcane theories and how best to turn an enemy into cinders.” 

“I wish I could at least bandage it,” she admitted, wiping at a trail of blood that had begun to run down her cheek. 

“Ah!” Remembering something, Dorian reached into one of the pockets on his robes. “I can’t believe I forgot that I had this!” He showed a small jar to her, unscrewing the lid to reveal a thick, pasty substance. “It’s a styptic,” he explained. “It won’t mend the injury itself, but it should staunch the bloodflow.” He scooped out a generous amount with a finger. “This won’t feel good,” he warned.

She nodded. “Do it.”

Dorian was right - it did  _ not _ feel good. The ointment stung where it touched the torn flesh, the sharp pain quickly turning to a dull throb. But it did as Dorian had said it would, preventing more blood from dripping down into her eyes. 

“There,” he said as he finished his work. “That should hold until we can get you to a healer.” He pocketed the jar and motioned for them to get moving. “We should try to get out of these cellars. I’d advise moving slowly until you’ve regained your equilibrium.”

He offered her a hand to help her balance, a hand she took gratefully. The room spun dangerously with her first few steps, but it quickly righted itself. Still, her stomach rumbled angrily in response. “So you’re adept at fire magic?” she asked, attempting to distract herself. 

“Quite,” he replied. “Though I’ve also dabbled in lightning spells and necromancy.”

She shot him a startled look, and he laughed.

“It’s not as morbid as it sounds,” he said. He paused then, and chuckled. “I take that back. It’s  _ exactly _ as morbid as it sounds.”

“Is that… common in Tevinter?”

“Not particularly. It’s a very specialized branch of magic, and it has limited applications in the real world. Most necromancers are from Nevarra, you know. Their burial customs demand it.” 

“Then why the interest in learning it?”

“It’s common practice in Tevinter to study very specialized fields of magic,” he admitted. He paused, momentarily looking around a corner to check for enemies before he continued. “All of the elite are mages, you see. If we only studied the basics, how ever would we manage to one up each other? It’s one of the reason relatively few of us study healing magic. It’s rather dull, I’m afraid - mundane.” 

“So instead, you chose… necromancy.”

“It adds to my mystique,” he said, nodding. She snorted at that, and judging from the grin on his face, he had expected just such a response. 

Their talk faded as they rounded another corner, entering a wide, square room that must have once been a grand chamber - perhaps a ballroom, or a library? A large set of wooden doors stood before them, a heavy chain and padlock keeping it shut tight. “That’s problematic,” Dorian mused. 

Evelyn looked around, searching for another way forward. Two corridors branched off from this room, one to the left and another to the right. Both appeared to go down - to a different part of the cellar? To the dungeons? 

“If there’s a lock, there must be a key,” she murmured. 

“Agreed, but we haven’t the time to waste searching for one,” Dorian replied. “We still have to find Hawke, remember.”

Her stomach clenched worriedly at the mention of her lover. She pushed aside the fear threatening to grip her, not daring to think of what could have happened to him. “We’ll have to find another way then,” she said, stepping forward. She stopped in the middle of the room, putting her hands on her hips. “Right or left? Should we split up?”

“No,” Dorian said sharply. “I wouldn’t advise that.” He pointed to the right corridor. “I say we take that path. There’s more light that way.”

“Couldn’t that mean more enemies?”

“Perhaps. But it could also mean a way out.” 

She nodded. “Let’s go then.”

*

_ You cannot hide. _

Edric hurdled over a table that stood in his path, continuing on towards the next door as soon as he’d landed. 

_ I see you. _

He scowled as he ripped the door open, pulling so hard the hinges creaked in protest. He was beginning to tire of running through so many rooms, looking for one that would lead him out of here. He wasn’t sure where he was supposed to be going or what he was supposed to be looking for. The spirit, Cole, had been maddeningly vague, and he’d grown very quiet as the envy demon had continued to chase them. 

There had to be a way out, though. This was  _ his  _ mind, these were  _ his  _ thoughts and memories given shape. Surely that meant that he had some level of control over what happened here? Perhaps it was like the Fade; though he’d never cognizantly crossed into the realm of the spirits, his mother had. She had spoken of it to all of them as children - it was a land where thoughts shaped reality, and nothing was as it seemed. A dangerous realm, to be sure, but also an incredibly enticing one where your deepest desires could come true. If this was similar to that…

The next time that he ran into obstacles, Edric imagined himself pushing them out of the way. One of the empty chairs rocked a little on its feet, but nothing else happened. A harsh cackle met his ears then, the envy demon mocking his ineffectuality. 

_ Is that the best you can do? _

Edric ignored the gibe, heading into the next room. The door slammed behind him without his touching it, and he looked back in surprise. That was… odd. None of the other doors had closed after he’d passed through them. Shaking his head, he turned to face forward again, not wanting to waste time. 

But there was no where else to run. 

He had come to a dead end. 

“Dammit,” he muttered, falling into a crouch as he fought to regain his breath. What was he supposed to do now? He could not go back - the envy demon was waiting for him, and he was in no shape to fight such a creature. But it didn’t look like he could go forward either - the walls before him were cold, seamless gray stone. There was no way out.

“So make one.”

Edric jumped to his feet, whirling around to face the speaker. It was Cole, the spirit having appeared out of thin air. 

“Make one,” Edric repeated flatly. “I haven’t the tools to do such a thing.”

“Tools?” Cole asked, head tilting to the side. “Why would you need tools?”

Edric snorted. “How else am I supposed to carve my way out of here?”

“It’s your mind,” the spirit reminded him. “You can do what you want.”

“I tried that earlier,” Edric said, shaking his head. “It didn’t work.”

“You were not focused,” Cole disagreed. “Try again.”

Was it really so simple? Edric wasn’t sure about this. He looked back towards the door; a faint green light shone in through the small window set near its top, illuminating the room. Perhaps there was another way.

“No.” It was as if Cole could read his thoughts.  _ An unsettling notion, _ Edric thought. “You cannot go back. He will catch you.” 

“Are you reading my mind?” Edric demanded. 

“Your thoughts are loud,” Cole said simply, turning away as if that were a thorough answer. 

Huffing in frustration, Edric returned his attention to the wall. What Cole had suggested was quite simple in theory - this was a place controlled by his thoughts, thus he could think up a reality and it would come to be. But that was much quicker said than done. It would be easier if he were a mage and had had some experience with the Fade.

“Hurry!” Cole said suddenly. His voice was panicked. “He is coming!”

“Hurry?” Edric snapped. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Make a path! Find the way to your friends!” 

“I don’t know how!”

“You do!” 

Letting out a growl of frustration, Edric turned back to the wall. He tried to do as Cole said, imagining the wall before him bursting open to reveal a way out and back to his companions. 

The stone did not budge.

Next he imagined the stones shifting, forming a door and swinging open the way they did in the fairy tales his mother had read to him as a child. There would be a staircase just beyond, leading up, up, and up until he reached open air. 

But nothing moved.

He focused hard, furrowing his brow and glaring at the stones as if the sheer weight of his gaze could force them to submit. Sweat was dripping down his face, and he could feel his pulse pounding through his veins. Was he even doing the right thing? His breath was beginning to come in harsh, heavy pants as the air began to chill around him and the dull roar of Envy’s presence continued to grow.

_ Time’s up. _

Suddenly, Edric was thrown into darkness. A deep, dark pressure settled on his chest then, and he gasped, his lungs struggling to work.  _ No!  _ A voice in his mind then - Cole? It seemed warm and kind, not shrill and grating like Envy’s voice.  _ You must fight it!  _

He tried. Oh, how he tried. He did everything that he could, attempting to use his mind to force the demon back. The pressure on his chest eased slightly in response, but he was able to do no more than that, and when a tearing pain at his side broke his concentration, the darkness returned in full force, threatening to suffocate him. 

_ How pathetic - I thought you would be harder to break. _ The demon’s insidious voice was inside his mind now; it was accompanied by a strange, wriggling pain, as if there was a worm crawling around in his skull.  _ What would your friends think if they saw you now - what would your sister think?  _

Evelyn’s face came to his mind, her mouth drawn down into a frown and her eyes welling up with tears - a memory recalled by Envy to make him despair. Instinctively, Edric fought against it, trying to push it away. He would not fall for this! Evelyn would never think lesser of him for struggling against this creature - instead she would try to help him, lend him her strength and the power of her magic. 

_ Perhaps. _

A new face flooded Edric’s mind then, one he did not expect. 

_ But what of her? _

She would… she would -

_ She would be ashamed to know that you were so weak, ashamed to realize that she placed her faith in one such as you. How did she think that you could help? Why did she so misplace her trust?  _

That wasn't true. It  _ wasn’t _ . She hadn’t misplaced her trust. He was worthy of her faith in him!

The demon laughed at him.  _ Then why has your blood run cold with fear? _

“I am not afraid!”

_ Oh, but you are. You are… terrified. Like you were the first time you saw a mage succumb to power, the first time you saw one of your charges become that thing you call an abomination. It is threatening to consume you, a gaping chasm into which you could so easily throw yourself. _

The thing was right. 

He  _ was _ afraid. He was terrified as he had never been in his life. The demons he had faced before were nothing compared to the all-encompassing evil surrounding him. What could he do in the face of such overwhelming might? Could he fight? Could he resist?

_ We fight not because we may win, but because we must win. _

Words, spoken to him so long ago in a city far away from here, suddenly sprang into his mind. It was not the demon who spoke to him, or even Cole. The voice was female, strong and proud, full of a faith that did not waver.

_ We fight, because if we do not, who will? _

_ And what if we fail? _ he had asked of her.  _ What happens if everything goes wrong? _

_ Then we will try again. And again, if need be. We will try as many times as it takes to make things right. _

Her faith had drawn him like a moth to a flame. It had convinced him to leave Kirkwall, to come south and attempt to make a difference. She believed that they would succeed not because it was inevitable, but because they would not give up. 

Now, her words gave him strength. The demon had paused in its attack, unsure of how to turn this memory against him. Its hesitance gave Edric the opening he needed. He took a deep breath, gathering up the last vestiges of his will, and then  _ pushed _ . 

And Envy screamed. 

*

Things were quickly getting out of hand. 

Hawke jumped out of the way as the pride demon swung its electrified whips towards him again, his broken ribs throbbing painfully and drawing a gasp from his lips. Bit of an accident, that injury. The demon had moved quicker than he’d thought possible, catching him while his back was turned, and thrown him across the way. The impact would likely have split his head in two had he not twisted his body awkwardly mid-air. Instead, he’d merely made it much harder for his lungs to function. 

He was given no time to recover as the beast quickly moved from one attack to the next. Hawke found himself on the defensive, dodging punches and lightning with every second step.  _ This isn’t good. _ The act of moving around so much was causing him to tire. Combined with the injuries he’d already sustained, and it was a recipe for disaster. 

But he wasn’t giving up just yet.

Each time the demon swung for him, it took a moment to withdraw its heavy arm. When the demon aimed for him next, Hawke dodged the blow and quickly grabbed the knife at his belt, jamming the blade into the fleshy part beneath the creature’s shoulder. The demon roared in pain and jerked back from him, taking the weapon with it. 

“What’s the matter?” Hawke goaded. “Did that hurt?”

He spun, summoning fire to throw in the creature’s face. It gave him a feral snarl, its beady eyes dark with hatred as the skin of its head burned and blackened. 

Hawke grinned. “You shouldn’t make that face!” he chided. “It’ll get stuck that way, and what a pain that would be for all the lady demons!” 

The next lightning attack was far too close for Hawke’s comfort, the charged atmosphere making his hair stand on end. Had his gibes gotten to the thing’s head? It was impossible to tell - could the demon even comprehend him? He jerked back as the creature suddenly lashed out at him again, his ribs jarring painfully in response. The movement startled him, and he did not see it when the demon’s opposite fist came smashing into his side. 

For a moment, he felt nothing but the cool wind.

And then, there was pain as he landed against a wall, head cracking ominously against the stone as his neck whipped back at the force of the impact. Hawke drew a deep, shuddering breath as he slid down to the ground, his vision blackening at the edges.  _ Things… have definitely gotten worse _ , he thought, straining to keep an eye on the demon. 

It was stalking towards him slowly, confident in his defeat. 

He could use that to his advantage. 

Despite his fading vision, his eyes alit upon a nearby rock; it was large and sharp enough to do some damage. He tried to appear awkward and clumsy as he reached for it. Truthfully, it wasn’t much of a charade; his hands were shaking from blood loss, fingers barely able to feel the stone they were gripping. As the demon crept towards him, he held it steady, preparing to defend himself from its next, final attack.

The demon paused, considering him with murderous eyes. What was it waiting for? Was it reconsidering its attacks?  _ A little late for that.  _

Finally, it drew its unwounded arm back for one last attack. Hawke tensed, waiting for the perfect moment to counter its swing. Time seemed to slow as he waited, waited, waited, saw the arm began its descent, fingers curled up tight into a fist. It was close, so close, two feet away, then one, then scant inches, then -

At the very last moment, he leapt to his feet and summoned fire, shoving the rock into the demon’s chest and then pouring flame into the wound. Still, the demon’s fist continued on its path, slamming into his right side. Hawke was sent sprawling across the ground once more as the thing screamed in rage, flames licking up its sides. He tried to push himself to his feet, but his arms were weak, fingers scrambling ineffectually at the flagstones. He could do little more than watch, hoping that that had been enough to bring the demon down.

He was lucky. 

The stone must have pierced the demon’s heart, for it pitched forward with a plaintive keen, landing face first upon the ground. The creature shuddered a few times, black blood seeping out from its body. But after a few moments, it was silent. 

Hawke could have laughed. Could have, of course - he wouldn’t, not with his ribs in their current sorry state. Instead, he attempted to roll onto his back. It took him longer than he would have thought, and so he rejected his prior thought of moving into a seated position. 

“At least this way, I can play dead,” he muttered to himself. 

Playing dead might end up being closer to the truth than he would have liked. He took a quick mental assessment of his injuries, not liking what he found - broken ribs, likely fractured skull, perhaps a concussion. That wasn’t even mentioning the numerous cuts and bruises he’d gained from the fighting, or the burn on his forearm from where the demon’s lightning had hit him. And the pain… he was fighting to retain consciousness at this point, struggling to keep himself awake. 

“You’ve seen worse than this,” he reminded himself; his voice was thick, and he tasted blood. He turned to the side and spat it out, grimacing in distaste. “The Arishok nearly cut you in two. Compared to that, this is a nothing but a scratch!” 

Not even he believed that.

“Alright, it’s a little more than a scratch.” 

As much as he hated to say it, the situation looked grim. Without a staff, his abilities were greatly diminished. It had been nearly impossible to defeat the one demon; if a group of them were to attack him... well, he wasn’t sure he had the strength to defend himself. He would have to hope that none of them came until he was able to stand again. 

Or until someone found him. 

_ Evelyn. _

His eyes snapped open as he recalled that she too had been sent into this strange land. She was here, and likely looking for him. Was Dorian with her? Despite his misgivings about the other mage, Hawke hoped that they were together. They had a higher chance of surviving this that way. 

_I should look for her,_ he thought, trying to sit up. The world swayed violently and he gasped, barely catching himself on an arm. _No, bad idea._ _Very bad idea._ He gingerly returned to his former position, being careful so as not to bump the cut on the back of his head. 

A wave of frustration came over him then, and he scowled up at the swirling green clouds as if they were to blame for his current predicament. He couldn’t afford to just lie here and wait. He needed to find Evelyn! He needed to go to her! How cruel that his body was rebelling against his demands. 

_ You push yourself so hard, and then you break without realizing it,  _ Anders had once told him.  _ Know your limits, Hawke. None of us can afford to lose you. _

He’d smiled at the healer and called him a hypocrite. If anyone knew about pushing themselves beyond their limits, it was Anders. Of course, that probably also made him the expert on judging when others needed to take a rest. 

_ Know your limits.  _ His inner voice sounded suspiciously like Anders then. Perhaps it was the hole in his head, making him delirious.

“I don’t want to,” he said stubbornly. 

_ This isn’t about what you want, Hawke. This is about surviving. _

His eyes slipped closed once more as he relented, letting the exhaustion in his body wash over him. There was nothing he wanted to do more than go and find Evelyn. He wanted to stand at her side, to protect her. Not that she needed protecting, of course; he would simply feel better if he were there. But he was no use to anyone if he was unconscious, or worse, dead. Better to wait, and rest, and be of use to her later than to kill himself in a mere attempt to find her.

“Alright, Anders. You win. I’ll wait.”

*

“Do you see anything?” Evelyn called out.

“No!” Dorian yelled back. “You?”

“There’s nothing,” she replied, shaking her head. 

They had been searching the halls for a way out for what felt like hours, but there was simply nothing here. Rooms stood abandoned, ruined goods strewn across the floors, and certain directions were barred entirely by large piles of debris. At first, they had attempted to clear rubble out of their path, but it had quickly become evident that there was far too much refuse for the two of them to pass. They had been forced to turn back and find another path, which was proving just as difficult. 

Evelyn stood, brushing the dirt from her hands as she waited for Dorian to return to her side. Desperation was beginning to gnaw at her stomach, replacing mere frustration. What if they never made it out of here? What would happen to the Inquisition?

_ I should never have come to Redcliffe. This was a terrible mistake.  _

Her thoughts were interrupted by Dorian’s return. The mage’s handsome features were drawn down into a scowl. “I don’t understand it,” he muttered. “This is Redcliffe castle - we were just here a moment ago! There  _ is _ a way out - so why can’t we find it?”

“Perhaps it’s changed?” she suggested. 

He snorted. “Oh, it’s changed all right, and certainly not for the better,” he replied. 

“What do we do now?”

“We cannot go forward, and we cannot go back,” he mused. “The path straight ahead is barred to us, and the one behind gets us nowhere.” He paused, and then chuckled. “It’s almost like a riddle.”

“Well, I’m not amused,” Evelyn snapped. “We can’t keep going around in circles, trying to find something new!” She angrily smacked the wall with the butt of her staff. 

She froze when several bricks fell away, crumbling to pieces even as they hit the floor. “Do that again,” Dorian said quickly, taking a step forward. Obediently, Evelyn hit the wall again, using a little extra force this time. More bricks fell, leaving a small hole near the crumbling wooden trim. 

Evelyn fell to her knees, peering into the darkness. It was hard to see, so she summoned a ball of flame and held it before her. To her surprise, there appeared to be a passage on the other side, old, stale air making her gag for a moment. 

“What do you see?” Dorian prompted. 

“There’s a room!” she replied. She turned, scrambling back to her feet. “Help me make a bigger hole!”

Together, they pried enough bricks from the wall to make a hole large enough for them to crawl through. It was quick work, and though Dorian made a disparaging comment about the amount of dust settling onto his robes, Evelyn could tell he was just as excited as she was. They quickly clambered through, looking around the next chamber with interest. It appeared to be a kitchen of some kind, dried spices hanging from the ceiling and an empty hearth surrounded by cast iron pots. Across from them was another door. 

Evelyn made her way to it eagerly, Dorian fast on her heels. She threw it open, expecting to find another hall, and almost stepped out into open air. 

Dorian grabbed her as she flailed precariously in the air, pulling her backwards. She landed on top of him, forcing a pained grunt from him. “Sorry!” she gasped, rolling to the side.  

“Not to worry,” he wheezed, sitting up. He waved a hand towards the open door, glaring at it. “What in Thedas was that about?”

Evelyn crept towards the edge, peering out cautiously. “There’s a balcony,” she replied, nodding her head left. “But it’s broken. It must’ve once stretched out this far.” 

“Can we jump to it?”

The thought sent a spike of fear through her. “I…” She supposed it  _ was _ close enough for them to jump. But it looked old, and rickety, splinters everywhere. Would it support their weight? What if she tripped and didn’t make it at all? What if-

A warm hand gripped her shoulder as Dorian peered out around her. “I don’t like the thought either,” he murmured. “But we must move forward.”

Hesitantly, she nodded. “I can make it,” she said. 

“I’ll go first,” he said, standing up and offering her a hand up. Evelyn stepped back to allow him more room, as did Dorian, preparing to launch himself out of the door and towards the balcony. He paused just as he was about to move, looking towards her. “If I die,” he said quickly, “please make sure that my mother has nothing to do with my funeral. She’ll attempt to cover me in calla lilies, and I  _ detest  _ calla lillies.” 

Evelyn rolled her eyes, but before she could reply, Dorian had leapt forward. Her heart jumped up into her throat until he landed with a heavy thud on the balcony, the timbers creaking ominously. “Are you alright?” she demanded. 

“Yes! It’ll hold!” He beckoned for her to join him. “Now it’s your turn!” 

She aligned herself with the edge, a dull roaring in her ears. She felt slightly faint, her heart beating against her ribs like a drum.  _ I can’t do this!  _ A panicked voice shrieked in her head.  _ I can’t! _

“You  _ can _ do this,” she said firmly. “And you must.”

She drew a deep breath and began to slowly count to ten. 

_ Four… Three… _

“Evelyn, watch out!”

Evelyn didn’t turn to see what had caused Dorian to yell. 

Instead, she leaped.

For a terrifying moment, she was flying. The wind was tugging at her clothes and hair, the bottom fell out of her stomach, and she felt dreadfully, violently ill. And then she hit the balcony, scrambling to regain her footing. 

“Move!”

Dorian grabbed her by the arm, hauling her to her feet as he began to run. Evelyn chanced a glance backwards, startled to see some fell, twisted creature hanging out of the door, red crystals poking out of skin stretched tightly over a bony frame. A bow was in its hands, the tip pointed straight at her. With a yelp, she set off after Dorian, running as fast as her feet would carry her. 

The wooden boards beneath them were creaking ominously with each movement. “What is that thing?!” Evelyn cried, turning sharply as the balcony headed west.

“I haven’t the faintest idea!” Dorian threw back. “But I wasn’t about to find out!”

They had reached the end of the balcony, a flight of rickety stairs leading down into a small, overgrown courtyard. A few of the planks had large holes in them, and others were missing entirely. “Careful,” Dorian warned, stepping cautiously out onto the first. 

She followed his movements, only stepping on those steps that he dared test with his full weight. They were lucky, reaching the ground without any mishaps. Once they were on solid ground, Evelyn fell to her knees in relief. Sweat dripped down into her eyes, and her head absolutely  _ ached, _ but she was so grateful to be away from danger for a moment, she could have cried. 

Dorian moved to inspect the courtyard, allowing her a quiet moment to herself. She appreciated it more than he probably knew, gathering herself before she rose and moved to join him. 

“The sky is green,” Dorian offered. 

Evelyn looked up. Indeed, the sky was very green - and it was  _ wrong. _ The looping eddies and whorls weren’t the sort of peaceful green you found in nature, but something sick and foul instead. She recoiled from it almost instinctively, as if it inspired some need for her to shelter herself from it. 

“Do you think this is the Breach?” she asked quietly.

“Undoubtedly,” he replied grimly, crossing his arms over his chest. “This is the Breach. This is what will happen if the Inquisitions fails.” 

“Then we’re in the future.”

“And we must get back.” He turned towards her. “But first, we must find Hawke.” 

She nodded, trying to ignore the painful, worried wrench his name evoked.

They exited the courtyard through a passage to the left, finding themselves in a barren field filled with dead grass. A few trees had once stood here; now they were scorched and naked, branches twisting towards the sky like grasping, pleading fingers. Evelyn half-expected demons - or perhaps more of the fell creatures she’d spotted before - to jump out at them, but this place was forebodingly silent.

Another courtyard lay before them, connected with the field by a small bridge of stone over a vile, barely flowing rivulet. Evelyn crossed it warily, taking in the area. Unlike the courtyard they had landed in, this new one was scattered with rocks, scorch marks on the ground indicating a battle had taken place here. And the smell! It must have been coming from the giant corpse in the middle of the area. 

“Pride demon,” Dorian assessed. He poked it with the tip of his boot. “But a dead pride demon.” He crouched down, inspecting the demon in more detail. “Whoever fought it, they were a mage,” he added, trailing a finger down the side of the beast’s arm. “See the scorch marks - here and here?"

“Hawke,” Evelyn whispered. She jerked her head up, looking around wildly for any trace of him amidst the rubble. “Hawke!” 

“Evelyn?”

The voice was faint, barely more than a whisper. Only the silence of this blasted place allowed her to hear it. She rounded the demon, nearly tripping over its outstretched talons. 

_ There! _

“Hawke!” 

She scrambled over to him, sinking to her knees beside his fallen form. She banged her knees painfully in the process, but she was too focused on checking his injuries to care.  _ There is so much blood, _ she thought anxiously.  _ And where is his staff? _ His armor was shredded, and his body was peppered with wounds. She wanted to touch him, but was afraid of causing him pain, so she settled for fixing his mussed hair. Her fingers were trembling as she combed through the dark, matted strands, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes. 

He caught her shaking wrist in his hand, covering her hand with his own. Only then did she meet his eyes. He was grinning at her. 

“I knew you’d find me,” he said. 

She did start crying then, both from the joy of finding him alive and the sorrow of finding him in such a sorry state. 

“Hey,” he murmured. “Why are you crying?”

“It’s just…” She broke off, gesticulating wildly as she tried to articulate her thoughts. She finally sighed, unable to come up with anything. “You.”

He chuckled, though it quickly turned into a wince of pain. “I have that effect on people,” he joked. 

A watery snort left her. “You would make jokes at a time like this.”

“This is the best time for jokes!” he said. “It lightens the mood!”

Light footsteps against the stone signaled Dorian’s approach. Evelyn wiped away her tears with the back of her hand as he knelt down beside them.

“Well, well, Champion,” he drawled, grinning slyly. “You survived.”

“So sorry to disappoint you.” 

“Not at all,” Dorian replied, grabbing one of Hawke’s shoulders and motioning for Evelyn to do the same on the other side. Together, they managed to get the Champion up into a sitting position. “I’m happy to find you alive and in one piece! It would have been a waste of a perfectly pretty man!”

Hawke snorted. “A true tragedy,” he agreed.

“Can you stand?” Evelyn asked, eyeing her lover nervously. 

“Barely,” he replied. She shot him a pointed look, and he sighed. “Alright,  _ maybe. _ The blasted demon broke several ribs and threw me against a couple of walls, so I’m afraid my sense of balance has likely been destroyed.” He eyes trailed up to Evelyn’s forehead, brow furrowing when he noticed the styptic and dried blood. “You’re hurt,” he said. 

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “Just a shallow cut. I hit my head when we fell.” 

“What’s that you have on it?”

“This.” The two of them looked back to Dorian, who’d pulled the ointment from his pocket again. Without asking permission, he began lathering it all over Hawke’s injuries. The latter squawked indignantly in protest, but was far too weak to push the other away. It took the entire jar to cover Hawke’s wounds, and Dorian grimaced. “You owe me another jar of this,” he said accusatorily. 

“I’ll give you anything you want if we get out of here alive,” Hawke retorted.

Dorian lifted an eyebrow deviously. “Anything?” he repeated, eyes trailing down over Hawke’s exposed chest and arms.

“Careful, Sparkler,” Hawke warned teasingly. “Or my lady might smack you.”

“ _ Sparkler _ ?” Dorian croaked. 

“Help me up,” he continued, ignoring Dorian’s incredulous look. 

“You’re calling me  _ Sparkler  _ now?!”

“Don’t look at me,” Hawke said, shrugging. “Varric came up with it.”

Dorian made a choking noise, covering it quickly with a scowl as the two of them helped Hawke to his feet. “I am going to murder that dwarf,” he muttered.

“No, you aren’t,” Evelyn replied.

“May I at least chastise him greatly?”

“Does chastising him greatly include killing him and then raising him from the dead as a practical joke, Mr. Necromancer?” She earned herself an exasperated look for that one.

“Chastise away, Sparkler. He’s not going to call you anything else.”

Dorian glared at him. “I take back my former words. I was far too hasty in asserting my happiness in seeing you again.”

“Now that’s just not nice.”

The two mages continued to bicker as the three of them headed back into the castle. Hawke hobbled along slowly but steadily, heavily supported between Evelyn and Dorian. It was slow going, leaving plenty of time for the two men to throw half-hearted insults at one another. Evelyn couldn’t help but smile, even as they drove each other wild with half-feigned rage. 

She had found Hawke.

He was alive.

Now they just had to find a way back to the present.  

*

All at once, the world snapped back into focus.

Edric blinked at the sudden light, staggering backwards as the envy demon released him. Someone caught him, and he half-turned just in time to see Cassandra staring at him worriedly. He froze at how close she was to him; he could smell the light floral perfume she wore beneath her armor, and the soap she used to wash her hair. 

“Edric!” 

He snapped out of it at once, turning just in time to see Vivienne smack the demon with her staff, ice forming at her fingertips. 

“Begone, foul creature!” she demanded, crystals shooting her fingertips to embed themselves in the creature’s flesh. It cried out in pain and then hissed like a wounded animal. Vivienne spun on her heel, bringing her staff up to hit the demon with the blade, when suddenly, it disappeared in a cloud of smoke, withdrawing from the fight entirely. 

“What happened?” Cassandra asked. “What was that thing? What did it do to you?”

Edric noticed that his sword had fallen from his fingertips when the demon had attacked him. He bent to retrieve it, the weight feeling good in his hands. “It is an envy demon,” he replied, his voice hard. “It has taken the Lord Seeker’s face.” 

“How do you know this?” Vivienne asked.

“Because it spoke to me,” he said. “He wanted to wear  _ my  _ face next.”

“Fucking demons,” Bull cursed, gripping his ax a little harder. 

“If it has taken control of the Order, then all of the strange commands we’ve been given haven’t been true,” Barris quickly interjected. “This isn’t the Lord Seeker’s doing at all!” He frowned. “But then where is the real Lord Seeker?”

“I would like to know that as well,” Cassandra said, her eyes hard. 

“Normally, envy demons hide their victims away somewhere once they have determined all that there is to know of them,” Vivienne offered. “If Lucius is still alive, then he is likely not here. He will be somewhere isolated, somewhere the demon does not have to fear anyone finding him.”

“If he is not here, then you’re the senior officer,” Edric said to Cassandra. She looked surprised at the idea. “What would you have the Templars do?”

Cassandra quickly recovered, brows snapping down in focus. 

“Kill it.”   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you'd think! :D
> 
> Sorry about how long this chapter took to get out :o These scenes are very important, and I'm trying to get them just right. I've also been busy finishing up the semester, but now I'm done (save one exam I'm still working on, haha)! Hopefully, the summer terms will allow me more time to write :) 
> 
> And of course, a big thank you to my pal bushviper for the quick beta <3


	19. Negotiations and Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edric and Cassandra prepare for the final assault on Envy, while Evelyn, Hawke, and Dorian discover what Alexius has been up to in the future.

Edric was not sure what he had been expecting when he had stepped up to open the doors to the Great Hall. But it certainly had not been  _ this. _

It was madness.

The remaining uncorrupted Templars formed a loose circle in the middle of the hall, makeshift barricades providing an extra ring of protection around them. The Red Templars, as Cassandra had so aptly named them, were attempting to get to the survivors, growling and hissing as they circled the soldiers like rabid dogs. 

His entrance served as a distraction, everyone turning to look at the open doors in shock. Edric used the opportunity to rush forward, immediately decapitating the Red Templar closest to him with a fierce cry. 

Just like that, the battle returned in full force. Edric found himself quickly falling into the familiar steps of close combat, moving from parry to attack in graceful, fluid motions. Though he was still fatigued from the mental battle with Envy, his movements were strong and swift, fueled as he was with anger. He was renewed, his purpose restored as they fought to recover the hall and beat back the enemy. 

As always, Cassandra was at his back, protecting his flank from attacks he could not see just as he protected hers. Her presence was comforting, more so than usual even, but he did not question it. There would be time for that later. 

Finally, Bull slammed his axe into the last of the Red Templars, wounding him grievously. The creature let out a piteous cry as the Qunari jerked back on his axe and then swung again, beheading him in one stroke. “Tough little shits,” he grunted. 

Edric had to agree with his assessment. Some evil gave the creatures supernatural speed and strength. He had never seen their like, not in all his years at the Circle. These things were no longer men; the red lyrium seemed to turn their minds to a singular purpose: destruction. Even now, he could feel its strange, hauntingly beautiful song infiltrating his thoughts. Spikes of the minerals were poking up from the floor, giving the entire chamber a menacing scarlet glow.

“Destroy the lyrium,” he ordered thickly, turning away from the sight of it. Cassandra watched him warily; could she sense its effect on him? 

He didn’t have time to ponder it, as Ser Barris approached. Judging from the cuts on his cheek and the dents in his armor, the Templar had been wounded. But his gaze remained strong and resolute; he was ready to continue fighting, ready to end this. 

“The hall is clear,” Barris announced. “We have barred the doors, but I fear we won’t be able to hold them for long. There are too many of them, and too few of us.” He turned, looking back towards the apse. It was only now that Edric noticed a strange, magical barrier was in place, preventing anyone from coming too close. “Envy has holed itself away in the courtyard just beyond.” 

“We must get through that barrier,” Edric replied. He turned to Vivienne, standing nearby. “What do you think, Madame de Fer? Can the barrier be broken?”

She nodded. “Of course, my dear,” she said. “It is only magic. Any barrier can be broken with the right amount of resistance. If we can gather up the remaining Templars, they should be able to suppress the magic enough that we may break through.” 

Edric turned back to Barris. “How many of your men are there?” 

The man shook his head sadly. “Too few,” he lamented. “Perhaps thirty or forty of us remain.”

_ Too few indeed.  _ “Are there more out there?” Edric asked, motioning vaguely in the direction of one of the doors. 

“Perhaps. Some could be trapped in the barracks. But there are far more enemies out there than in here; if they have managed to survive, they are sorely pressed.”

“Then we must help them,” Vivienne declared. “We must rescue all of the Templars that we can. And it would not be a bad thing if we were to... dispose of more of these creatures in the meantime.”

“Agreed,” Edric murmured. He fixed Barris with a serious eye, gauging the man. He had no idea what sort of rank Barris had held before this, or what sort of leadership experience he had, if any. Would he be capable of holding the hall if Edric and his companions were to leave? “Can you hold this hall?”

“Yes, ser,” Barris said firmly. “We will hold it to the last man. I can promise no more.”

He hadn’t answered too quickly or too confidently. This man was realistic about the situation. That reassured Edric, and he nodded. “We will be as quick as we can,” he replied. 

“May the Maker watch over you.” Barris gave him a short bow before turning back to the Templars, quickly taking charge of the situation. The others gathered around him easily, Edric noted, and took heed of his words without any hesitance. Again, a reassuring sight.  

“He is a good man,” Vivienne murmured thoughtfully. Edric turned to her, finding her gaze still fixed on Barris’ back. “Should he survive this, you should make use of him. He will be a worthy ally.” 

“I cannot promote him,” Edric said slowly. “I am not his commanding officer.”

Vivienne lifted an eyebrow, the corner of her lips pulling up into a grin. “Does he have one?” she retorted. “With Lucius gone, I think you will find that you have much more authority than you realize. Don’t abandon the idea just yet, my dear.”

He nodded, agreeing with her assessment. The Templars would need a new commander after this was all over. Should Barris survive, he was as worthy a candidate as any. 

But now was not the time to entertain that line of thought. He motioned for Cassandra and Bull to join theme, quickly explaining their new objective as they made for the barracks. Cassandra instantly voiced her approval of the plan, and Bull seemed more than eager at the prospect of eliminating more of the Red Templars. 

They waited until Barris was prepared to defend the hall before setting out. At first, all was quiet; the long hall that led out to the courtyard was empty, with nothing out of place. Even the yard appeared abandoned at first. But as soon as they had headed for the stairs that led to the barracks, the Red Templars attacked. 

They came in droves, pouring from the walls like bees from a hive. Bull hefted his axe in his hands, shooting Edric a sidelong glance. “You ready for this, Boss?” he asked. “It isn’t going to be pretty.”

“No, it’s not,” Edric agreed grimly. “But any that we kill here means fewer creatures to attack us later on. And fewer of them to assault the hall.” He held up his shield before him, looking over his shoulder at Cassandra and Vivienne. “Ready?”

The former gave a curt nod, brandishing her sword before her, but to his surprise, the mage laughed; it sounded like the tinkling of water on glass, completely out of place on this dark battlefield. 

“Darling,” she replied, “I was  _ born _ ready.”

*

“Talk. Now.”

Varric had never considered himself much of an interrogator. It wasn’t his style; back when Hawke had been patrolling Kirkwall’s streets, they’d let Rivaini do the questioning. She was good at it, knew exactly what to ask and which buttons to push. And she’d undeniably gotten results, which was, of course, the most important part. 

He, on the other hand, was more suited to  _ finding _ the bad guys than roughing them up. Which made the current situation - Bianca firmly aimed at the throat of the mage bound up before them - all the stranger. 

At his side, Blackwall remained on guard, his sword hanging loosely at his side should he decide that he needed to use it. The Warden’s steely eyes were fixed upon Alexius, dark brows drawn down in a deep scowl, mirroring the frustration Varric felt. Beyond him were the men and women Leliana had sent to infiltrate the castle, their weapons at the ready. He would have preferred to have a mage to back them up as well, but Fiona had fled the moment the opportunity had presented itself. 

“What do you want me to say?” Alexius demanded. “That I’m sorry? That I beg your forgiveness?” He snorted, head falling down in defeat. “Surely that would be meaningless.”

“Well, for starters, you could explain what just sodding happened,” Varric replied. “What did you do to my friends?”

“It was a spell.”

Blackwall made a disgruntled noise that sounded suspiciously like something Cassandra would voice. “Do you take us for fools?” he demanded. 

Alexius sighed. “They have been sent forward in time,” he explained. “A year, to be precise. It was all I could manage on such short notice.”

“You can do that?”

Varric was still coming to terms with the whole “time magic” thing. He was no mage - no dwarf was. Still, he’d spent a fair amount of time around mages, and he liked to think that he had a decent understanding of how it worked. It was rather impressive, really, how much he’d managed to glean from Daisy and Hawke, considering how poor they were at explaining themselves. He’d had to fill in a few gaps himself with the aid of a few books. 

But none of them mentioned time magic. It shouldn’t have been possible. And yet…

Hawke, Evelyn, and Dorian were nowhere to be seen. 

“It’s a new form of magic,” Felix supplied from his spot near the hearth. He was sitting with his back turned to them, brooding.

Varric’s attention shifted to him; he had helped them subdue his father, and for that, they had left him unharmed and free. Still, Varric wasn’t too sure he could trust the man; blood was thicker than water, or so they said. 

Bartrand didn’t count.

“They’ve been working on it for years now,” Felix continued, “It’s taken them ages trying to get it to work.”

“And judging from earlier events, they figured it out,” Varric replied dryly. He cocked his head to the side, pondering the last bit of that sentence. “What is Dorian to you?” 

“He was my student,” Alexius replied. “I taught him when he refused to cooperate with the Circle.”

“Refused to cooperate?” Blackwall repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

“Dorian is very… stubborn,” the mage continued. “He does not do things that he does not wish to do. He did not do well in the first Circle that he was sent to; he didn’t like it there. So his father sent him to the smaller circle in Minrathous. But it was too strict for him, too highly regimented…” He snorted almost fondly. “I found him drunk in an alley one night, and took him back to my estate to make sure nothing untoward happened to him.”

_ Drunk in an alleyway, _ Varric thought to himself.  _ I’ll have to remember that. _ “And let me guess,” he said aloud. “You convinced him to apply himself and return to his studies?”

“Yes, I did. I served as his personal tutor for many years. I… he even lived with me for a time. He befriended my son. He almost  _ was _ a son to me, especially after… well. You understand.”

Alexius wasn’t telling them something, but Varric didn’t press it. He could sense that it was a sensitive topic, one better left for Dorian to tell himself. “Then why do this?” he asked instead. 

The magister fixed him with a sad gaze then. “Tell me, Master Tethras, do you have any children?”

“I hope not,” Varric replied.

“Ah. Then I doubt I can make you understand my motives.” He looked over at Felix sadly; the young man was studiously ignoring his father’s gaze. There was an old wound there, Varric saw, some long argument between the two of them. “There is nothing I would not do to protect my son, no price too high and no cost too steep. I cannot ask you to understand when you have not experienced such a love yourself, but that is the truth.” He turned back to Varric. “Everything I have done, I have done it for love of Felix.”

Suddenly, Felix jumped up from his chair. “Was it worth it?” he demanded. “Was any of this worth it?” He shook his head. “I know you want to save me, Father, but there is nothing that you can do! And look at what you have done to yourself for it! Cultists?! Time magic?!”

“Out of curiosity,” Varric interjected, “what is it you can’t be saved from?”

“Blight sickness,” Alexius replied bitterly. “ Several years ago, my wife and Felix were traveling when they happened upon a group of darkspawn. Felix managed to get away, but my wife…” He broke off, shaking his head as if to forestall tears. “And Felix… he was never the same. I should have been there. I could have...”

“There were too many, Father,” Felix said, looking away. 

“I could have-”

“You couldn’t.”

Varric’s eyes narrowed, and then he looked up at Blackwall, the Grey Warden blinking at his sudden scrutiny. “You know, I knew a guy once,” he said slowly, “Same thing happened to him. Well, he went  _ into _ the Deep Roads seeking treasures, so he wasn’t really attacked by darkspawn, but he got blight sickness just the same. But we had a Grey Warden with us - he was showing the path.”

“Ah - the Joining, then,” Blackwall breathed. 

Realization dawned on Felix’s features. “You… you think the Joining could save me?” he asked hesitantly. 

Blackwall shrugged. “Perhaps,” he replied. “Though many do not survive.”

“No,” Alexius said quickly, shaking his head. “I won’t allow it.”

“Father, if this would work -”

“You’re too weak!” the magister snapped. “Ingesting the blood of one of the old gods would destroy you!”

Felix paused, his eyes narrowing. “You know what it is that causes the Joining?” he asked slowly. “How? You are no Warden.”

“I’d like to know that as well,” Blackwall said, frowning. He sheathed his sword and crossed his arms over his burly chest. “That is a secret not many know.”

“I… must’ve read it somewhere,” Alexius replied, looking away. 

“What kind of books were you reading that mentioned ingesting archdemon blood?” Varric asked. He knew what the Joining entailed - he’d watched Blondie make the foul brew himself to save Carver. But he’d been made to understand that it wasn’t exactly common knowledge, as Blackwall had again reiterated. Even some of the Wardens hadn’t known what went into the chalices from which they drank. 

So how did Alexius know?

“You knew the Joining could help me,” Felix said suddenly. “You  _ knew. _ ”

“I had a suspicion,” Alexius retorted. “I couldn’t be sure of anything!”   


“Why did you not send me to the Wardens?” Felix was angry now, his fingers like vices as they gripped the chair before him. “Why would you not take that chance?”

“There was no guarantee that they could save you!” Alexius protested. “And what then? What if you had not survived? I wouldn’t have even gotten a chance to see your body before they burned you! They might not have even sent me word of your death!”

“But if it would work-”

“Then you would be a Grey Warden, yes,” Alexius confirmed. “And I would never see you again.” He sighed sadly, giving Felix a small, sad smile. “Nor would it cure you - instead, you would contract the Taint, slowly dying as its poison consumed you. I already lost your mother to the darkspawn, Felix - I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, too.”

“You’re already going to lose me!” Felix snapped. He broke off with a sudden cough, falling roughly into his chair until the attack had passed. It left him ashen and wan, with a weariness in his eyes that did not belong there. 

“I had hoped to find a way to save you,” Alexius continued weakly. “And I did - I did!” Tears were forming in the magister’s eyes now, though he was blinking hard to ensure they didn’t fall. “The Elder One can save you. He can! I have seen his power!”

“But at what cost?” Felix asked gently.

Alexius smiled, the tears finally falling. “There is no cost I would not pay to see you healthy again,” he whispered. “Even if the price was my own humanity.” He laughed bitterly. “I know now that it was a mistake - I should have sent you to the Wardens when you had a chance.” 

Varric felt the crossbow in his hands grow slack. He looked over at Blackwall, half-surprised to see the Warden similarly affected by the family’s tragic story.  _ Well, shit, _ he thought to himself.  _ What do we do now?  _

The magister turned back to him. “I cannot save your friends,” he said quietly. “They must find their way back to us on their own.”

“Can they do that?” Varric asked. It seemed nigh impossible.

“Dorian can do it,” Felix said confidently. “He’ll find a way.”

Alexius nodded in agreement. “Dorian is smart, one of the most intelligent men I have ever known,” he said. Varric quirked an eyebrow at that, and the magister smiled. “He might not seem that way, but it is the truth. If anyone can find their way back to the present… it’s him.” He paused, drawing a deep breath. “I… would like to propose a deal.”

“A deal?”

“You have me at your mercy,” Alexius explained. “If I attempt to escape, my life is forfeit. But if you take me as your prisoner, there are things I can tell you. Information, the Elder One’s plans… I could help you.”

“... I take it you want something in exchange for this better-than-you-deserve treatment?” Varric guessed.

Alexius turned to Blackwall then. “Let him join the order,” he said quickly. “Let him join the Wardens!”

“Father,” Felix murmured exasperatedly. “Now you give in?”

“It is the only way you might now live,” Alexius continued. “I know that you may die, and that I may never see you again. But if you do not try this, you  _ will _ die. The Elder One will have my head for botching this operation. He would not save you now even if I begged it of him.” He looked back to Varric, his smile turning bitter. “Please… allow me this.”

Varric sighed and looked up at Blackwall. He jerked his head back, motioning for the other to follow him back to a more secluded spot. “What do you think?” he murmured, keeping an eye trained on the magister. “Can you let the kid go through the Joining?”

“I… yes,” Blackwall replied. “I have the right… materials.”

“With you? Right now?” Varric eyes the man’s pockets. “Could we do it?”

“I haven’t got pockets in my  _ armor, _ Varric.” 

“Alright, alright,” Varric said quickly. “Doesn’t seem like the type of stuff you want on your person anyways.” He paused. “When can we do it, then? Do we have to take them back to Haven?”

“No, I have the blood in my saddlebags. We can do it as soon as we get out of this damn castle.”

“And will he survive?”

“I can’t say. No one knows who will survive and who will not.”

“Would it help him?”

“I don’t know.”

Varric sighed. “You’re not much help,” he muttered. 

“Sorry,” Blackwall retorted. “I’ll try to read up on the probability of success for next time.” 

_ With any luck, there won’t be a next time. _ “And the deal?” he prompted. “Do we take it?”

The Warden hesitated. “We’re not the ones who should be deciding this,” he muttered. “It’s not our duty.”

He was right; this was Evelyn’s decision to make, or maybe Dorian’s. It certainly wasn't his. But if the three of them couldn’t find their way back… “We’ll give it an hour,” he said. “If Hawke and the others haven’t come back by then… we’ll have to make a decision on our own.”

Blackwall nodded. “An hour.” He turned then, announcing their decision to the father and son before he sat down in a chair by Felix. Varric wondered what they were discussing - the responsibilities of a Warden? Felix’s abilities? It was impossible for him to hear from this distance.

His eyes flicked back to Alexius. The magister had a surprisingly serene smile on his face; it was hopeful, too - at the prospect of Felix surviving? 

Varric hefted Bianca up again, training the crossbow on Alexius’ chest as he too settled into a chair to wait. The mage didn’t even notice, so lost was he in his thoughts. Good enough for him - it gave him time to think, time to come up with a plan should Hawke and the others not make it.

_ Not make it. Now you’re just being pessimistic, Tethras. Give it time. Hawke’s never failed you before, has he _ ? 

Well, there was a first for everything.

“Come on, Hawke,” he muttered. “Where are you?”

*

“The future, you say?” Hawke asked, peering around at the ruined hall they were traversing. “Can’t say I much care for it.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes at him. “That’s why we need to get back,” she snapped. “So that we can make sure this doesn’t happen.” Her green eyes flicked down to the wounds on his arms, and he could see the unmistakable worry there. A pang of guilt flashed through him then; she wouldn’t say it, but he knew she was also intent on getting him back to a healer. 

“Evelyn,” he said softly. She froze, not quite meeting his gaze even as her head turned back towards him. “I’ll be alright. I promise.”

One of her tiny hands clenched into a fist at her side, relaxing a moment later as she released a slow breath through her nose. 

“I’ve faced much worse odds than this!” 

She snorted. “Is that meant to comfort me?” she asked.

“Well, it was supposed to make you smile,” he replied, “though it appears that I have failed.”

“Not quite,” she allowed, a small grin forming upon her lips. She sighed then. “At least your sense of humor’s remained unharmed.”

“Maker help me if I ever lose it,” he agreed. “Then I’ll just be positively boring.”

“You’re the Champion of Kirkwall. No one with a title like that is boring.”

“You can’t have met many Champions then.”

“There’s more than one of you?” Dorian interjected. “Lovely.”

“Oh yes, I’m afraid there’s nearly as many Champions are there are cities in the Free Marches,” Hawke replied, though he wasn’t sure that was precisely accurate. It was worth it to see the disdainful expression on the other mage’s face, however. “None quite so handsome as me, of course.”

“Of course.”

Dorian paused, looking into a side room as they passed it by. “What’s this?” he murmured, taking a step forward. “This room is intact!” He poked his head through the doorway, peering around curiously. “And quite richly decorated,” he added. 

Hawke and Evelyn followed him inside. True to his word, the room was filled with dark, expensive furniture and exquisite tapestries. A desk near the back was littered with books and papers - recently used? The embers of a fire were still glowing on the hearth as well. Someone had been here. 

“Who would have used this room?” Evelyn murmured.

“Alexius,” Dorian said sharply. He’d picked up one of the papers from the desk, and was reading it with narrowed eyes. Evelyn moved quickly to join him, peeking over his arm for a better view.

Hawke sank into a chair by the fire, grateful for the reprieve. “What does it say?” he asked.

“He’s been trying to save Felix,” Dorian murmured. “The Breach has been augmenting the power of his time magic. But even it is not enough to save his son.” 

“He sounds… paranoid,” Evelyn added. “Scared, even.”

Dorian nodded and picked up another page, eyes roving over the words quickly. “‘I have tried countless times to go back before the Conclave explosion, before Felix's caravan was attacked by darkspawn, before the Venatori first arrived in Minrathous - without success. The Breach is the wellspring that makes this magic possible, and travel outside of its timeline is impossible. The Elder One's demand that I change the events of the Conclave can never be fulfilled.’” 

“Why would he want to change the events of the Conclave?” Hawke wondered. “This Elder One is in charge now, isn’t he?” 

“Something must have ruined his plans,” Evelyn murmured. “Or someone.” She swallowed nervously, looking down. “But what was ruined?” 

“Questions for another time,” Dorian replied. “We still need to figure out what’s going on here, and then make a plan to return to the others.”

“Oh, is that all?” Hawke asked.

The mage shot him a withering look. 

“Look at this one,” Evelyn said, pointing to a balled-up piece of parchment. She reached for it, unfolding it and smoothing it out so the writing was legible. “‘They know he is unhappy with me,’” she read. “‘I can see it in their eyes - watching, always watching. They think I do not know it, but I can see! The Elder One will come for me soon - and we all know what happens to those who fail him.’” 

Hawke grimaced. “Sounds to me like a man regretting much of what he’s done,” he said.

“He’s spent the entire year since our departure from the world attempting to subvert the necessity for our departure at all,” Dorian said wryly, shaking his head. “It would be more amusing it it weren't so tragic.”

“Perhaps we’re too late after all,” Evelyn said worriedly. She tapped the paper. “This says he thinks he’s going to be killed, and there’s no telling when he wrote this.”

Dorian shrugged. “He may already be dead, but we still have to try to find him. He’s our best bet for getting out of here. If he still has the amulet he used to cast the spell that sent us forward in time, I can use it as a focus to send us back.” He looked back at the hearth, his eyes settling on the embers. “Those are still smoldering… someone must have been here recently.”

“Where would he have gone?” Evelyn asked. “Is he in charge of Redcliffe?” 

“If he were, wouldn’t he be in the great hall?” Hawke guessed. “Seems a likely sort of place to deliver orders.”

“Perhaps,” Dorian agreed. “Unless he has barricaded himself somewhere in an attempt to hide.”

Hawke pushed himself up out of the chair with a pained grunt. “The search continues,” he sighed. 

“Not for much longer,” Dorian replied. “We must hurry. The more time we spend here, the more likely something will go wrong.” He quickly moved to the doorway, poking his head out once to check for enemies before motioning for them to follow. Evelyn was next, Hawke bringing up the rear in his awkward, injured gait. Maker, what he would have given for his staff just then! He normally didn’t use it as a walking stick, but he sorely missed that availability now. 

_ Just a little longer, _ he thought.  _ Then you can rest. And get a new staff. And hopefully a stiff drink. _

As they climbed up yet more stairs, his thoughts turned to Varric and the others back in their time. What was his friend doing in their absence? Had they taken Alexius hostage, or tried to force him to reverse the spell? Had it turned into chaos? He wished that he had some way of knowing. He didn’t like the idea of Varric and Blackwall being in as much trouble then as they were now. 

“This certainly escalated quickly,” he muttered. 

Evelyn heard him, and looked back over her shoulder at his sardonic comment. “Had I known this would happen when we came to Redcliffe to save the mages…” She snorted and shook her head. “It all seems like too much to comprehend, even now.” 

He put a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to be comforting, even though he felt no better about the situation than she did. “But if we  _ do _ save the mages, and manage to get back to our friends, won’t it all be worth it?” he asked.

She nodded slowly. “I hope so,” she replied.

“Hold onto that - I’ve found hope can get you through a lot of the bad times, even when it seems like nothing is going as you expected.” He grinned. “And besides - this will certainly make for one damn good story.”

“Too bad Varric’s not here,” she said. “He’d certainly tell it better than me.”

“He’ll tell it better than us even  _ without _ having been here,” Hawke lamented. “Alas, but his skills are far greater than either of us can even dream of.” 

“Probably,” she agreed. “He  _ is  _ the professional.” 

*

“What is the meaning of this?”

Cassandra stepped forward hesitantly. What was this place? The focus of the room was some sort of altar, hundreds of candles dripping pale wax onto the floor. In the center was a marble bust of a woman, her face unplaceable. 

She looked around warily, eyeing the strange red symbols on the walls distastefully. Were they written in blood? The thought left an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she gripped her sword a little harder.

Edric stepped to the altar’s edge, taking a piece of parchment that had been pinned to the bust. He scanned it cursorily before handing it Vivienne, who had come up behind him. “What do you make of this?” he asked.

The mage’s lips pursed. “Empress Celene,” she said quietly. “They plan to strike at the heart of Orlais.” 

“They would not dare,” Cassandra retorted. Orlais was one of the strongest countries in Thedas; even this demon could not be so stupid as to attack such a realm! 

_ But how strong is it, really? _

No country had been spared from the mage rebellion, and with the death of the Divine coming so quickly after, the political scene of Orlais was likely just as tumultuous as everywhere else. And with the rumors of a civil war brewing between Celene and her cousin... 

Well, perhaps such a dare was not out of the question.

“They sense an opportunity,” Vivienne continued, voicing Cassandra’s thoughts. “The Empire is at its weakest point in decades. I doubt that they will attack openly, with an army at the gates of Val Royeaux, but they are planning something.” She handed the parchment back to Edric. “An assassination attempt on the Empress, I would think.”

“Not good,” Bull assessed. “A succession crisis in the middle of all of this shit?” He shook his head. 

“We must inform Leliana and Josephine of this at once,” Cassandra said quickly. 

“Agreed,” Edric said, nodding. “Maybe we can send word to the Empress, tell her to prepare herself.”

Vivienne chuckled. “I fear that will do little good, darling,” she sighed. “Celene faces assassination attempts all the time. It is the way that the Game is played. Even if we could convince her that this is a very real threat, there is likely nothing that she would do about it.”

“What then are we to do?” Edric asked, frowning. “We cannot let her die!”

“Of course not,” the mage agreed. “I think it probable that we shall have to venture to Orlais ourselves in order to protect her. If you wish to see something done properly, my dear, you must do it yourself.” 

Cassandra did not like the thought of that. Orlais had been… less than receptive of the Inquisition, largely due to the Chantry’s looming presence there. They had not been barred from entering the Empire, not yet, but she worried that they would not be taken seriously. As Bull had said, the Empire’s stability was not something that they could afford to lose in these unpredictable times.

“Another mess to clean up,” Edric said, his voice surprisingly dour. “How wonderful!”

“There’s always going to be someone who’s shit the bed,” Bull said reproachfully. “Better to be the person that cleans it up than the person who just wallows in it.”

“I know that!” Edric retorted, huffing out an angry breath. “That does not make me like it any more.”

Cassandra turned to him, startled, not expecting the scowl that he wore. Normally, Edric was the spitting image of patience and duty; he had always taken on responsibilities with equanimity, no matter what was being asked of him. Had the fight with the demon taken more of a toll of him than they had originally thought? No, that couldn’t be it; Edric would have said something if he had not felt himself. This was fatigue; it had to be. She felt it as well, a deep weariness that permeated down to her bones. 

They had to get out of here. The longer this fight dragged on, the worse it would get. 

She stepped forward, nudging him with her elbow. “Come,” she said firmly. “We cannot linger here.”

Edric shot her a curious look, but slowly relented, pocketing the letter of the demon’s intent. He let her lead the way back to the hall, seemingly content to guard their rear in the case of another attack. They were lucky, though - the path remained clear from where they had cleared it before. 

The hall, however, was not so empty. Red Templars were swarming what remained of the Order, Ser Barris valiantly issuing commands to his men even as he dueled one of the foul creatures himself. Several had already fallen, their bodies twisted at awkward, broken angles on the flagstones.

He turned towards them at the creak of the door, the relief he felt at their return palpable. “Templars!” he cried. “To me!” 

Their return was a rallying point, the added numbers boosting the severely flagging morale. Together, they were able to bring down the remaining Red Templars. 

Barely a moment of peace had passed before Vivienne took command, advising the Templars on the weakest points of the demon’s barrier. They lined themselves up in rows before the magical curtain, falling to their knees as they drew on the lyrium within their blood. 

Cassandra flicked her eyes to the side as Edric approached her. Though he was watching the barrier intently, ready for the slightest hint of trouble, his mouth was drawn back into a resigned grimace. “This place unsettles me,” he said curtly. 

“The sooner we leave, the better,” she said, altogether in agreeance. 

He shifted, swinging his sword around a few times as if in preparation for the battles to come. “What I said back there…” he said suddenly, moving to face her entirely. “I…” 

_ He is trying to apologize _ , she realized. But for what? A scathing comment said in a moment of anger? She almost snorted at the thought. Maker knew she had made enough of that sort of remark over the years. Thankfully, many of her closest friends had not thought lesser of her for it. She could think no less of Edric for such a thing.

“Think nothing of it,” she said firmly. 

“It was callous of me-”

“It was  _ human _ of you,” she retorted. 

They were momentarily distracted by the sudden surge of power that shot through the room as the Templars began to work on the barrier. A brilliant burst of blue light filled the area, the charred smell of magic mixing with the cool, metallic odor of lyrium.

Cassandra turned back to him. “You are allowed moments of weakness,” she continued. “We all are.”

He looked pained by her words, and it confused her. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Cassandra… I-”

“At the ready!” Ser Barris’ voice rang out loud and clear over the wrath of the spell as it fought back against the Templar’s suppression. “The demon will not give in without a fight!”

“We should prepare for battle,” she said, motioning towards the weakening barrier.

He nodded, but instead of moving towards the ensuing fight, he took a step towards her, grasping her arm. “Let us show this demon what happens to those who corrupt our brethren,” he said. 

She gripped her sword tighter, her worry for her friend fading as his countenance returned. For a moment, she had feared that something more than fatigue was troubling Edric, something more than frustration at the demon’s antics. But it appeared her anxiety was unfounded - he remained as steadfast as ever. 

“With pleasure,” she said, eyes narrowing as the first Red Templars burst through the barrier. Bull met them with his axe, a fearsome battle cry leaving his mouth as he buried the weapon deep into crystallized armor. 

“I’m glad to be at your side again,” he continued. 

She couldn’t help but grin at him over her shield, his words pleasing to her. “And I at yours.” 

“When this is over,” he said, eyeing the next group of Red Templars warily, “I would like to speak with you.”

“What about?” She fell into a crouch as they approached, their feral eyes searching for weaknesses. She almost snorted at that - they would find none.

“Speaking with the demon made me… think,” he said, pausing as he lashed out at the first Red Templar, wounding it grievously. He stepped back as she lunged forward, injuring another with a slash at the thigh.

“You wish to speak-” 

“-of the demon, yes!”

Edric slammed the butt of his shield into the wounded foe’s face, bone crunching as it hit. Cassandra pivoted and stabbed her sword into the weak point at the junction of pauldron and chestplate. The Red Templar jerked once, and then fell, dead.

She huffed as she rose, instantly turning towards the next enemy. “If you want to speak of it,” she started, parrying a blow with a shield, “then we shall!” 

“I do!” he called back. 

“You know where to find me!”

They spoke no more after that, losing themselves in the fight. Through it all, Cassandra kept hearing his words in her mind:  _ When this is over… I would like to speak with you. _ It was subconscious, his voice replaying in her mind over and over even as her mind focused upon the battle.  _ Speaking with the demon made me… think. _ Of what, she wondered? What would one realize after talking to a demon? 

She found herself curious, and even more eager to be rid of this place. 

_ Just a little longer.  _ She swung her sword in an arc, lashing out at the Templars besetting her. At her back, Edric did the same. 

_ Almost there. _  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I apologize for how long this took me to finish. But we're almost done with the In Hushed Whispers/Champions of the Just quests! It's definitely a lot more to work through than I initially thought, hahaha. Thanks for putting up with it! 
> 
> Again, a huge thanks to my pal bushviper for beta-ing this <3
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome :) I am going on vacation this next week, so I may not be able to respond quickly, but I always appreciate you guys' kind words :)


	20. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn, Hawke, and Dorian manage to return from the future to find themselves face to face with Ferelden's rulers. Meanwhile, Edric and Cassandra debate the fate of the Templars.

Aftermath.

It was something Edric had seen before. After the Chantry’s explosion in Kirkwall, he had been one of the few Templars remaining to pick up the pieces. At first, it had been chaos. Where were they to begin? What were they to do first? So much had needed to be done - bodies identified, debris moved, a culprit found, rebellion quelled… it spoke volumes of Commander Cullen’s strength of will that he had been able to get any work done at all in the short amount of time before Cassandra had come to their door, announcing the Divine’s intent to reinstate the Inquisition. 

Cullen was not here now, however. Now, only Edric remained. Now, it was his turn to decide what was to be done. 

He was so weary, fatigue seeping into bones like ice. Every part of him ached, and there was nothing that he would have liked more than to sink down into a bed and sleep for days. Looking at his companions - discreetly checking them for injuries - he believed the same could be said of them. There was a hollowness to Bull’s eyes that had not been there before the trip to Therinfal Redoubt, and a deeply buried despair in Cassandra’s grimace. Vivienne alone did not appear affected by the horrors they had seen here, her countenance ineffable, but then again, she was perhaps the best among them at hiding her personal feelings. 

Cassandra noticed his gaze, and slowly walked over to him, favoring her right side a bit. There was a dark bruise staining her cheek, a token from the fight with the Envy demon. He almost reached out to touch it, but stayed his hand at the last moment. 

“It is finished,” she said, eyes flicking over to the spot where they had slain the demon. It had disappeared instantly, of course, its essence reabsorbed into the Fade, but the spot seemed tainted just the same. Stained. Unclean.

Across the courtyard, he noticed Ser Barris rounding up the remaining Templars. Though he was new to leadership, he was quickly taking an inventory of the wounded and the fallen, and setting up a makeshift infirmary in a corner free of refuse. 

“Not quite,” Edric murmured. 

Cassandra followed his gaze. “The Templars,” she guessed. “What are we to do with them?”

His lips twisted into a wry smirk. “I was hoping that you would tell me,  _ Seeker _ Pentaghast.” 

She scowled at the emphasis on her title. “I have not claimed the authority that comes with that title for years,” she snapped. “I left it behind when I became the Right Hand of the Divine. You know that.”

“I do,” he agreed. “I was only teasing.”

She seemed unsure of that, eyeing him suspiciously, but said nothing of it. “What are you planning?” 

He shrugged. “The way that I see it, we have two options,” he began. “We may either disband the Order entirely, as punishment for their crimes against both the mages and for abandoning the Chantry when it called upon them, as is their sacred duty. Or we may give them new leadership, and allow them to continue with their duties, returning to the Chantry with the corruption purged from their ranks.”

“Return to the Chantry?” Cassandra balked. “They cannot go back! The mages will take that as a signal to incite more rebellion, and this war will drag on even further.”

“Then we punish them?”

She hesitated. 

“You see my dilemma,” he continued, crossing his arms over his chest with a resigned sigh. “I do not wish to punish them - Thedas needs Templars. I will be the first to admit that the Order is not without its faults, but there must be some sort of defense against rogue mages. And with the amount of demons pouring from the sky, anyone who has the ability to repress magic is potentially a useful ally.” 

“Allies.” 

Edric and Cassandra turned as Vivienne approached them, a smile on her lips. 

“An interesting word choice,” she continued. She paused for a moment, looking at Barris with interest, before returning her attention to the two of them. “The way that I see it, my dear, there are not two, but  _ three _ options before you.” 

“Go on,” Cassandra prompted. 

“You may punish the Templars for their wrongdoings, and in so doing, disband what remains of the Order in the South,” Vivienne replied, “Or you may enact heavy changes to their hierarchy, placing men of quality in leadership roles, and send them back to the Chantry, where you will then have no further control over their actions. Neither of those options are particularly appealing, are they? Magic can be a very real threat if unchecked, thus it makes very little sense to disband the Order, but the Chantry has proven itself rather dismal at the administration of the Circles, thus it makes very little sense to send the Templars back to them as if nothing had ever happened.

“I, however, believe that a third option may be more appealing to all of us. You were intent upon securing the aid of the Templars to suppress the magic of the Breach. Then, your sister would be able to seal it. What if, afterwards, you were to keep the Templars on as your allies? You would have an active role in their reorganization and could eliminate the type of corruption that started this war in the first place, all the while keeping some of the soldiers most adept at fighting magical enemies at your side.” 

It took Edric several moments to take in everything Vivienne had said. He could find no fault in her logic. Cassandra too appeared to be finding difficulty criticizing the other woman’s plan, her brows furrowed in deep thought. 

“How will the Chantry react?” he asked quietly. 

“The same as they always have,” Vivienne replied, “with wild gesticulating and pontificating about loyalty to the Maker and his chosen. But they have no teeth, my dear. And with the need for a new Divine growing more pressing every day, they will not be in a place to address any problems they have with this move.” 

“It will be their highest concern,” Cassandra agreed. “And it is not as if all of the Chantry disagrees with the Inquisition.”

“Only those who can shout the loudest, it seems,” Vivienne said. 

“It’s decided, then,” Edric said. “We will offer the Templars a formal alliance without censure, in exchange for their aid in helping close the Breach.” 

“Will you lead them?” Vivienne asked quietly. 

He snorted. “I already have enough duties,” he replied. “Were I to take on the added responsibilities of governing the Templars, I think I would lose my sanity.” 

“I cannot lead them, either,” Cassandra said. “As a Seeker of Truth, it would be inappropriate.” She looked to Vivienne, her eyes narrowing at the mage’s silence on the matter. “Who do  _ you _ think should lead them, Madame de Fer?” 

“I think that we already have a leader who is more than capable of meeting the demands of that duty,” she replied, her smile deepening. She stepped aside, revealing a clear view of Barris personally attending to the more grievously wounded of the Templars. 

Edric had to chuckle. “Back there in the hall, when you mentioned that it would be a good idea to keep Barris close to me,” he said. “You were already planning on suggesting the alliance then, weren’t you?”

“A clever woman always plans a few steps ahead,” Vivienne replied. “But a wise woman sees what must be done, and makes it so.” She strode off then, walking towards Bull, currently being attended by a medic for the wounds he’d sustained fighting the demon. 

“How does she do that?” Cassandra demanded. 

Edric blinked. “Do what?” 

“Manage to sound so superior without actually saying anything that implies that anyone else is inferior,” she finished. 

He chuckled. “I think it’s a unique talent.”

She huffed. “I have heard queens and kings speak with the same sort of confidence,” she replied. “But never a mage.” 

“Is it wrong of her to be confident?” Edric asked, frowning.

“No,” Cassandra said. “But it is…” She broke off, unable to find the proper word. “We would do well not to get on her bad side. She would not make for a good enemy.” 

“A good enemy?” he repeated, chuckling again. “Is there such a thing?”

She glared up at him. “You know what I meant,” she snapped. 

“I did,” he agreed.

“...Are you teasing me again?” 

“Perhaps, Cassandra.”

She made that noise of contempt that she normally reserved for Varric, but it held none of its normal bite. “We are wasting time,” she said, turning towards Barris. “Come. Let us speak with him with now.” She strode off, not waiting for his acquiescence. 

“Of course,” he said, smiling at her back. “Let’s go.”

*

“Alexius!”

The magister spun around as his name was called, a shrinking, cowardly image of his formerly proud self. A year had not done him well, Evelyn thought - his eyes were sunken back into his skull and his robes hung loosely about his frame. At his side was Felix, looking even worse than his father did, his skin tinged gray and stretched thin over his bones. 

“Dorian.” Even the magister’s voice had changed, thin and reedy now when it had once been strong. “So you have come.”

“Did you expect any less of me?” Dorian retorted. He chuckled, though the sound was mirthless. “Come now, Alexius, you know me better than that.”

“I had hoped that perhaps you had gotten lost in between times,” Alexius admitted. “I did cast the spell rather hastily.”

“I’m so sorry to disappoint you.” Dorian planted himself firmly in front of his former tutor, face hard. “You still wear the amulet, I see. I’m afraid that I must borrow it.”

Alexius clutched at his chest, grabbing for something that lay beneath his robes. “I cannot give it to you,” he snapped. “I need it.”

“I believe you’ve disturbed the timeline enough,” Dorian replied. 

The magister shot Felix a furtive glance. “I still must save my son,” he persisted. 

“Alexius,” Dorian began, but the other man cut him off.

“You don’t understand,” the magister continued. “You never did, and you never will. But I will not be parted from the one thing that could save my child from death.” 

Dorian paused, studying his former mentor. “How many times have you tried to change the past?” he finally asked. “In the last year, how many times you have gone back to that day?” 

“Too many to count,” Alexius said hesitantly. 

“And has any one of them been successful?”

“Many failures do not mean that one attempt will not eventually be successful.”

“You cannot do it, can you,” Dorian guessed. Alexius refused to reply. The first took a few steps towards the second, cautiously so as not to startle. “There is not always dishonor in failure, Alexius. Please, friend - let it go.” 

Alexius shook his head bitterly. “You are asking me to do something that I cannot do,” he said.

“Cannot? Or will not?”

Once again, the magister did not answer. His face contorted into a mournful grimace, his eyes slipping closed. For a moment, Evelyn thought that he was going to stop, that Dorian had managed to get through to him. Felix lurched forward then, and Evelyn wondered what he was doing. Was he alright? But then Alexius drew her attention again, his arms moving quicker than their frailty suggested was possible as he summoned his magic, creating shards of ice large enough to rip a man to shreds. She cried out as the magister sent them hurtling towards Dorian, terrified that her friend wouldn’t be able to react in time. 

Dorian threw himself backwards, putting up a barrier at the last possible moment as he fell to the ground. A hand rose instinctively to shield his face, his eyes scrunched closed against the attack. 

But it never came, for Felix had thrown himself into the fray. 

The shards tore through him as easily as if he were made of paper. He did not cry out once as the magic hit him.

Evelyn gasped, a hand coming up to cover the noise as soon as it left her mouth. Beside her, Hawke made a similar noise of astonishment as Felix fell to his knees and then crumpled onto the floor.

“No!” Alexius ran to his son, falling to his knees at his side. There was a terrible amount of blood oozing from the wounds, suggesting that perhaps an artery or a vein had been torn.  

Dorian too scrambled to his feet, coming to his friend’s side. “Felix,” he murmured. He reached out a trembling hand, but seemed unable to bring himself to touch the other for fear of harming him further. “Why…?”

Alexius was openly sobbing now, his hands writhing helplessly as he stared down at his son.  _ He doesn’t know any healing magic, _ Evelyn realized.  _ None of us do. _ Tears pricked at her eyes then, and she blindly reached for Hawke’s hand. It as much out of frustration as it was for comfort. 

Felix, his breathing laborious, looked up at both his father and his friend. “It was the only way,” he said slowly. “Stop this - both of you.”

“No,” Alexius said, repeating the word over and over to himself. “No.”

“Father,” Felix said, more firmly this time. “There is nothing more -” He broke off with a hacking cough, and when he put a hand to his mouth, it came back covered in blood. “You cannot save me,” he finished weakly.

“I can!” Alexius insisted, reaching forward to frame his son’s face with his hands. “I must!” 

Felix moved his hand to his father’s arm, gripping it with all the strength he had. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “I have never blamed you.” Alexius shook his head in mute disagreement, but Felix had already turned to Dorian. “Dorian.” He swallowed thickly. “Go back - save my father. Do something.” 

Dorian nodded. “I will,” he said fiercely. “I swear it to you, Felix. I will not let this come to pass.” 

“Please,” Felix croaked, “Save him from himself.” 

He grew silent then, and Alexius cried out.

“Felix!” 

Evelyn had to turn away as the magister brought his son’s forehead to his own, a piteous moan escaping his lips. Though she hated what Alexius had done , she realized now that it was his love for his son that had driven all of his actions. And she understood him a little better for it, she thought. If something similar had happened to her, or Edric or Ewan, would her her parents have acted similarly? Would they go so far? She couldn’t know, and she certainly wasn’t about to forgive Alexius’s actions in love’s name, but the thought was a sobering one. 

She turned back in time to see Dorian gently prying Alexius away from his son’s body. The magister resisted at first, but then gave in all at once, seeming to collapse in on himself. He clung to Dorian’s arms, forgetting the troubles that had driven them apart. 

“Dorian,” he murmured, “Felix… I…”

“Alexius,” Dorian said firmly, “Listen to me. It does not have to be this way. Give me the amulet. Allow us to return to the past.”

“Why?” the magister asked bitterly. “Felix will die no matter what I do. Are you asking me to watch him die again?” 

“You do not know that he will die,” Dorian replied. “You were so fixated upon this one avenue of curing him that you may have neglected others! Let us go back, Alexius, and I will help you search for a cure. Together, we may succeed where you alone were unsuccessful.” 

“You would… help me? After all that I have done?”

“It... would require sacrifice on your part,” Dorian admitted. “You would have to renounce the Elder One, and abandon your plans. And I am sure that the Inquisition will be wary of you, at first. They may require you to reveal whatever sensitive information you carry. But I will vouch for you.”

“As will I,” Evelyn said, stepping forward.

Alexius turned towards her in bewilderment. “You?” he asked. He gave a feeble snort. “You don’t know me. And after what I have done to you, you would be a fool to trust me.”

“I don’t trust you,” she agreed. “I don’t trust you at all. But I do trust Dorian. If he will vouch for you, then I will vouch for the both of you.”

“And if he betrays your trust?” Hawke asked, limping forward to where she stood. “Have you a plan for that?”

Evelyn paused, uncertain, but this was a possibility that she would have to recognize. “If he goes back on his word...” she replied, shifting her gaze to the magister. “Know this - my brother will be forced to have you hunted down and brought back to us in chains. Perhaps he would do it himself. I doubt it would be a pleasant experience for you - he’s a Templar.” 

Alexius appeared suitably cowed by her response. He turned to Dorian. “You will have to tell me all of this again, once we are back in your time,” he said quietly. “I will have no knowledge of this conversation.”

“I know,” Dorian replied. “I will persuade you. I will not let Felix’s sacrifice be in vain.”

“I hope you can,” Alexius said sadly. 

“Come now, Alexius, have I ever given you cause to doubt my persuasive abilities?” Dorian asked, chiding him with a taste of his former humor. “Remember that time with the chickens?”

Alexius nodded. “I do,” he replied. “I’ve still not found the appetite for poultry.” 

Evelyn snorted, resolving to ask Dorian about the chickens later. She then rose to her feet, taking Hawke’s hand to keep him close at her side. Across from her, Dorian stood as well, helping his former mentor up. 

She looked at Alexius expectantly. “The amulet?” she prompted. 

The magister withdrew a small charm from around his neck; a strange, square pendant hung from the chain. It was green, marked with intricate symbols that Evelyn couldn’t understand. Alexius stared at it for a long moment, as if he were contemplating the finality of his decision to help them. As the seconds dragged into minutes, Evelyn half-wondered if he would renege. But finally, he handed the amulet to Dorian. 

The mage smiled at his mentor and then turned to Evelyn and Hawke. “Come then,” he said. “Let’s fix this.” 

*

Varric could have shit his pants. And, considering all of the scrapes he’d gotten into over the years, that was really saying quite a bit. 

He scrambled to his feet at the sudden blast of magical energy. Moments ago, a great green vortex had roared to life with a rushing burst of air, taking up the middle of the room. Felix and Alexius were on the other side, obscured by the mist the hole was generating. At his side, Blackwall drew his sword and stepped into a low crouch, prepared for whatever was going to come out of the portal. That was what it was, right? It looked vaguely portal-esque. 

His doubts were assuaged a moment later when Evelyn appeared and fell to the floor, followed by Dorian and Hawke in quick succession. The vortex vanished behind them and the great rush of air ceased, leaving the room strangely quiet. 

“Hawke!” 

Varric rushed to his friend’s side, offering him a hand up. He was startled by how pale his friend looked, instantly noticing the bruises and winces. Still, it wasn’t the worst off that he’d ever seen Hawke; he wasn’t sure whether that should have made him laugh or cry. 

“Hello, Varric,” Hawke said, steadying himself as he relinquished Varric’s grip. 

“What happened?” 

“I’m still not entirely sure of that myself,” Hawke admitted. “I’ve lost my staff, been thrown against a few walls, and somehow, I’m still standing to tell the tale.” He shook his head. “Is there a tavern around here? I need a drink. Or five.”

“You can’t drink with a concussion,” chided Evelyn, who had risen to her feet nearby. 

“Why not?” Hawke asked. “I’ve done it before!”

Evelyn frowned. “That’s stupid,” she replied. “Why would you do that?”

“Because Hawke’s stupid,” Varric supplied, ignoring Hawke’s indignant squawk. He reached out and patted her on the arm, giving her a smile. “Glad to have you back, Snaps.”

She smiled at him. “It’s good to be back,” she said. 

Hawke was still sulking when Varric turned back to him. “I am  _ not  _ stupid,” he snapped. 

“Intellectually, no,” Varric agreed. “But you have to admit, you do a lot of stupid things for a non-stupid person.”

“Evelyn!” 

The Herald turned as Dorian called her name. Blackwall was with him, and the mage had a curious look on his face. Evelyn murmured an apology to Hawke and Varric before hastening to Dorian’s side. 

“He must be telling her about the proposition,” Varric surmised.

“Proposition?” Hawke raised an eyebrow. “I’m the only one allowed to proposition her, Varric. It’s in the rules.”

“Rules? What rules?”

“The rules of  _ courtship _ .” Hawke said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Honestly, Varric, you write romance serials, I’d have thought that you would have known that.” 

Varric rolled his eyes. “You know, the word ‘proposition’ has more meanings than just the sexual one,” he said. “As is the case here.”

Hawke made his way to a nearby chair, falling into it with relief, before he answered. “Alright then,” he said. “So tell me what this  _ proposition _ entails.” 

Varric quickly explained the situation with Felix and his illness, trying to fit in as much detail as possible without too much needless extrapolation. He could tell Hawke was tired from his friend’s sunken posture, from his occasional listless nods. It worried him, though he didn’t say anything. Hawke could endure quite a bit. For him to be so thoroughly worn out… perhaps it was as much mental fatigue as it was physical. What exactly had happened in the future? 

When he was finished, Hawke looked up at him. “So Blackwall can conduct the Joining ritual?” he asked. 

“He says that he has all of the right materials,” Varric said. 

“And you trust him?” 

Varric blinked. “What are you saying, Hawke?”

Hawke’s eyes lazily flicked over to the other group, still murmuring furiously amongst themselves. “Something about him bothers me, Varric,” he said quietly. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but…” He shook his head. “I suppose we have to at least try. If it’ll save Felix.” 

“My thoughts exactly.”

“But we should keep watch on him. Perhaps-”

He was cut off by the sound of the doors slamming open. Varric whirled just in time in see soldiers pour into the room, taking up positions along the walls.  _ That’s the Ferelden coat of arms, _ he realized.  _ But what could…? _ He chuckled to himself as he realized what was happening. “Red, you are a piece of work,” he muttered.

“What?” Hawke asked, looking at the soldiers curiously. 

Varric ignored him, stepping forward so that he was ready to meet the new arrivals. He shouldered Bianca and adjusted his tunic, motioning for the others to do likewise with their garments. Sadly, he couldn’t do anything about the dirt and sweat that they’d all managed to accumulate in the past few hours. They’d just have to do what they could in the few seconds they had. He wasn’t terribly worried about it, though.

If anyone knew what it was like to get one’s hands dirty to save the world, it was King Alistair of Ferelden.

*

The soldiers were making Evelyn very nervous. She had jumped when the doors had banged open, whirling to face this new threat head-on. The warriors had given her pause; they clearly weren’t there to fight, moving immediately to positions at the side of the hall. What were they here for then? She didn’t recognize the crest on their banners - some sort of large dog, muscular with a short snout. 

Varric stepped forward, fixing his mussed clothes. He waved a hand at her, motioning for her to - to do what? She absently patted down her hair and straightened her shirt. Who were they to look presentable for? 

As in answer to her unspoken question, a man and a woman stepped forward, eyeing the group of them speculatively. The former was tall, with reddish hair and friendly hazel eyes. The latter appeared more aloof, her golden hair pinned to her head in an elaborate knot and her blue-gray eyes cool. Both wore fine clothes of leather and fur; they were clearly nobility of some kind. Should she bow to them, then, or maybe curtsy? 

“Your Majesties,” Varric said, popping a leg forward as he bowed low. “What an unexpected surprise.” 

_ Your Majesties. _

Not just nobility, then - the King and Queen of Ferelden themselves. Evelyn hastily fell into a bow herself, nearly pitching forward in her haste. Her cheeks burned as she righted herself, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to meet the monarchs’ eyes. Thankfully, they still appeared to be focusing their attention on Varric.

“Varric, you scoundrel!” the man said, stepping forward to shake the dwarf’s hand heartily. “What are you doing here? I had thought you had made Kirkwall your home!”

“You know how it is,” Varric replied, smirking. “I go where the stories go.”   

The man chuckled. “I see,” he said. “Leliana could have at least told me that you would be here, though. I would have brought a deck of cards!”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” Varric said. “I brought three.”

_ They speak as if they know each other,  _ Evelyn realized. But where would Varric have met the King of Ferelden? She was impressed, and a more than a little surprised. She had known that Varric’s travels were extensive, but perhaps not  _ this  _ extensive. 

The King turned his attention towards her. He smiled, stepping forward. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, extending his hand. “My name is Alistair.”

_ Do I shake his hand? Am I supposed to kiss it?  _ Evelyn’s thoughts were frantic as she realized that he was still waiting for an answer. “I-I’m Evelyn,” she replied. “E-evelyn Trevelyan.” She cautiously extended a hand as well, hoping she wasn’t committing a breach against protocol. At the last moment, she realized that she had raised her  _ left _ hand; the mark flashed green in the dim light of the room, catching everyone’s attention. She froze at the King’s sudden intake of breath.

“Is this it?” Alistair asked quickly, looking down at her hand. “The mark that can seal rifts into the Fade?” 

Evelyn nodded, turning her palm over so that it was more easily visible. 

The Queen stepped forward then, leaning down to investigate the mark herself. She was very tall for a woman, Evelyn noticed; combined with her beauty, it made her a trifle intimidating. “Fascinating,” she murmured. Her eyes flicked up to Evelyn’s face. “Does it hurt?”

“Only when I’m sealing a rift,” Evelyn admitted. “Otherwise, it’s more annoying than painful.” 

“And how did you get it?” the Queen pressed. “Was it a curse? A ritual gone awry?”

“I… I can’t remember how I got it,” Evelyn replied, looking away in embarrassment. 

“I have flustered you,” the Queen guessed. She took a step back, clasping her hands before her. “My apologies, Evelyn.”

“No, no-” Evelyn said quickly. “I’m not-!”

“I have,” the Queen insisted. “Without even telling you my name. My name is Anora. It is a pleasure to meet you, Evelyn.” She paused, and then delved into a lengthier explanation of her curiosity. “You must understand, my husband and I are most interested in the mark on your hand. Our land has been beset with these rifts from the Bannorn to the Waking Sea. We have sent our men to kill the demons that come from the Fade, but nothing we have done seems to close the rifts. But you can.” 

“I don’t know how it works,” Evelyn admitted. 

“The Inquisition is still most lucky to have discovered you,” Anora said. 

“Speaking of the Inquisition…” Alistair interjected. “I was a bit confused by Leliana’s letter. She wrote to us, and told us that the rebel mages had sold themselves into slavery for protection. She also managed that the Inquisition was trying to stop that from happening. But where  _ is _ the Inquisition, exactly? I haven’t seen any of your soldiers.”

“That’s because there aren’t any,” Varric replied. He shrugged apologetically. “The leaders of the Inquisition, including Evelyn’s brother, decided to try and enlist the aid of the Templars.”

“Who, I hear, are having their own problems,” Anora said dryly.

Evelyn nodded. “My brother took most of the soldiers to confront Lord Seeker Lucius at Therinfal Redoubt,” she admitted. 

“And yet,” Anora said, a tiny smile on her lips, “You are here.” 

“I came on my own,” Evelyn replied. “I had to help the mages, your Majesty. I couldn’t let them be sold into slavery.”

“Some would say it was a fair punishment for what they have done to the world since the start of the rebellion.” Anora’s head tilted to the side, and she waved a hand between her and her husband. “Indeed, they have impinged upon our own hospitality far more than was expected, even displacing and harming our people in their trek across Ferelden.” 

“Slavery is not a fair punishment for  _ anyone. _ ” It was Hawke’s voice, ringing loud and clear from where he sat by the fire. He bent slightly at the waist in deference to the monarchs, though he did not rise. “Forgive me, your Majesties; I would stand, but a pride demon and I had a punching contest. The demon won.”

“You’re still alive,” Alistair said. “That counts as a win in my book.”

“You are here too, Champion?” Anora asked, eyebrows lifting. She smiled at Evelyn. “A Tevinter magister, the most famous storyteller in the Free Marches, and the Champion of Kirkwall… you keep illustrious company, Evelyn.”

“It’s two magisters, actually,” Dorian piped up, executing a graceful bow for the King and Queen. “I am Dorian Pavus, most recently of Minrathrous. And this,” he added, pointing to Alexius, “is Gereon Alexius, who was previously a servant of the Elder One, and is now a prisoner of the Inquisition.” 

“I was told there was only one Tevinter magister in Ferelden,” Anora said, her voice growing cold. “And now I learn there are two. Are there more hiding in the woodwork?”

“Not that I know of,” Dorian said blithely, “though if I find one lurking in the shrubbery, I shall inform you.”

“He is aiding the Inquisition,” Evelyn said quickly, not liking Anora’s hostile tone. “He came to us alone, and has offered us aid against the Venatori.”

“Venatori? The Elder One?” Alistair shook his head. “And I thought dealing with  _ Orlais _ was complicated.” 

“There is clearly much for us to discuss,” Anora said, ignoring her husband’s comment. “For the moment, however, I believe that one issue stands above the rest.” She motioned to one of the soldiers. It was then that Evelyn noticed the woman standing beside him, a sour look on her face. 

Fiona. 

“I believe that the two of you are acquainted?” Anora asked. 

“We have met,” Evelyn said flatly. 

The Queen nodded and turn to Fiona. “We gave your mages permission to traverse our lands. The King felt some compassion towards your situation; he once traveled with a mage who had been raised in a Circle. She proved to him that mages are not inherently dangerous, and are indeed capable of a great many things.” Her eyes were icy as she surveyed Fiona. “And yet you have betrayed that trust, taking people’s homes from them and bringing war to our countryside. All you have done is further instilled in the common people the idea that mages  _ should _ be feared, that they  _ should _ be confined to Circles.” 

“The men and women who committed those crimes are not my people,” Fiona shot back. “They are renegades, intent upon harming a world that harmed them first.”

“That does not expunge them of their crimes,” Anora said sharply. 

“Most of them have already paid for their crimes,” the mage retorted. “With their  _ lives. _ ” 

“And what of  _ your  _ crimes? As their leader, you are responsible for them! How could you have let this happen?”

“ _ Let _ this happen?”

“Surely you realize that someone must be held accountable for the trespasses that have been committed here, yes?”

“Are you going to kill me then? Or imprison me? Make me Tranquil?”

“Perhaps it would be just, considering all you have allowed to happen.” 

Fiona angrily opened her mouth, but she never had the chance to retort. 

“There is another way,” Evelyn blurted out, stepping between the women to act as a physical buffer between them. Anora turned to her, saying nothing. Behind her, she could feel Fiona’s eyes staring into her back. “A way to get the mages out of Ferelden, and for them to help end the war.”

“What way is that?” Alistair asked curiously.

“The Inquisition has offered the mages an alliance.”

“An… alliance?” Anora repeated.

“We are fighting a war against demons,” Evelyn continued, “And in order to stop it, we must seal the Breach. Magic is our best hope at doing that. Apart from that, we need healers.” 

“And after the Breach is sealed and the demons killed?”

Evelyn swallowed nervously, unsure what to make of Anora’s cool, calculated questions. They weren’t… antagonistic, but they weren’t friendly either. “They will work with us to heal the lands that have been affected by the war,” she replied.

“If the mages leave with us, they’re no longer on your lands,” Varric interjected. “They would return to Haven, where they’d be held to the same standards as any of the Inquisition’s soldiers.”

“And no one would go to Tevinter as a slave,” Hawke added.

“Hmmm.” Anora tapped the side of her cheek in thought. “I understand the need for magic, I think. And it could provide a means for the mages to redeem themselves. But tell me, Evelyn - what happens after this is all over? What happens to the mages?”

There was no answer Evelyn could give her, for she had no answer to that herself. She did not want to send the mages back to Circles; no one deserved to be kept in a prison because of an inborn ability. But could mages just walk freely in the world? What would happen to those that succumbed to temptation, becoming abominations? 

She shook her head mutely. “We… haven’t figure that out yet,” she admitted. 

Alistair chuckled. “At least you’re honest,” he said. “Maker knows I wouldn’t want to be the one making that decision.” He paused for a moment, and then considered Fiona. “And what do the mages think of this?”

“It would appear that we have no choice but to accept,” Fiona replied stiffly. 

Evelyn rounded on her, tired of her bickering as much as she was of Anora’s jibes. “Quit acting as if this the worst possible outcome here,” she snapped. “You have an alliance - an  _ alliance. _ You haven’t been imprisoned, or forced into servitude. The mages will have a say in everything that they do for the Inquisition.”

“And what then?” Fiona asked, goading her. “What then will we do? You just said that you cannot guarantee our freedom. Many of my people will balk at the thought of returning to the Circles once this is over. Can you assure them of their safety?”

“I suppose that depends upon your behavior, doesn’t it?” Evelyn retorted.

An awkward silence fell upon them as Fiona turned her head to the side, refusing to speak more on the matter. Evelyn too, said nothing, unwilling to placate the other woman with empty promises. 

“Well,” Alistair said finally, breaking the quiet by slapping his hands together. “That settles that.” He turned to Fiona. “You had best gather the rest of the mages. I assume that you will be leaving come morning.”

The mage nodded curtly before walking to the door, unaccompanied this time. She shot Evelyn a baleful last look as she left. Evelyn pointedly ignored her.

The King turned to Alexius and Felix. “This is the magister you are taking into custody?” he asked, stepping forward. “The one who attempted to enslave the mages?” Evelyn nodded. “Why did you have need of them? Surely they are plenty of mages in Tevinter?”

“I did not need them,” Alexius replied. “The Elder One did.”

“And who is the Elder One?”

“A living god.”

“...I see.” Alistair paused, rather nonplussed by the magister’s answer. “And does this living god have a name? A real name, not some fancy moniker meant to frighten children in their bedtime stories?”

“Corypheus.”

Evelyn whirled at the sound of metal clanging upon the stone floor. To her surprise, Hawke had fallen from his chair; there was a frantic look on his face, and a fear in his eyes that worried Evelyn. She took a step towards him, but Varric waved her back, already on his way to help his friend.

“That’s impossible,” Hawke said sharply. “Corypheus is dead.” He shrugged off Varric’s help, even as he staggered back down to his knees.

“Perhaps you’re talking about two different people,” the dwarf suggested.

Hawke scowled at him. “How many ‘Corypheus’s’ could there be?” he demanded. He looked back at Alexius. “He’s dead.”

“I assure you, he is not,” Alexius said calmly. 

“That’s -” Hawke groaned and held a hand to his head. 

“Hawke,” Evelyn said worriedly.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I just need-” He slumped forward, Varric just catching him as he fainted. 

“Captain!” Alistair called, motioning for the leader of his soldiers. 

“Ser!”

“Have a couple of your men take the Champion to our camp, and have the medics tend to his wounds,” the King ordered. “Put him in my tent, and guard him until the Queen and I can return.” The Captain nodded and immediately set about fulfilling his liege’s orders. Evelyn watched nervously as the men came and picked up Hawke, cradling his unconscious body in their strong arms. Could these men be trusted with him? He was a mage, after all. Would they disobey? 

But Varric wasn’t resisting. If anything, he looked grateful to Alistair for the aid. Taking some comfort in that, Evelyn turned back to the Queen, who was still studying Alexius. 

“What did this Corypheus need with the mages?” she asked, again tapping the side of her face. 

“He wished to create an army,” Alexius replied. “What better source than the rebellious southern mages, running rampant across the land, desperate?”

“Will he retaliate, now that he will not get that army?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“I see,” Anora said. She turned to her husband. “We must alert the banns of this. If war is to come to our lands, they must be ready.”

Alistair sighed. “I hate calling the Landsmeet,” he muttered, “but I suppose you’re right.” He looked at Alexius. “What did he need an army for, anyways? What does he want?”

“To restore the glory of the Tevinter Imperium,” Dorian remarked dryly. “And he’s created an entire cult around himself in order to do so - the Venatori.” He shook his head. “It’s utter nonsense, the lot of it. People have been calling out for the return of Tevinter hegemony for ages, but Corypheus is the first possessing any  _ real _ power to have done so.”

“Are you one of them, these Venatori?” Anora asked. Alexius nodded. Her eyes flicked to Felix then. “And what of him?” 

“No,” Dorian said quickly. “Felix is Alexius’ son, but he is innocent of his father’s misdoings.  _ He _ alerted me of his father’s involvement with the Venatori. Had he not contacted me in time, I could not have come south to aid the Inquisition.” 

Alistair was looking at Felix curiously, eyes narrowed. “You don’t look… well,” he murmured. 

At her husband’s words, Anora took a closer look at him. “Are you ill, Felix?” she asked. “Perhaps one of our medics should attend you?”

“It is nothing that medicine can cure,” Felix replied, “though I thank you for the offer.”

Recognition gleamed in Alistair’s eyes then. “Blight sickness,” he guessed. “You have met darkspawn?”

“They attacked my mother and I when we were traveling, about a year ago,” Felix said. “My mother died, but I managed to escape.” He snorted bitterly. “Well, not entirely, I suppose.”  

“We had an idea about that, Majesty,” Varric interjected. He motioned to Blackwall. “We have a Warden with us, and he has right things to conduct the Joining ritual.” Blackwall shuffled forward, his expression reticent. “Is there a… room we could use? I doubt you want us doing this in front of everyone.”

“Of course,” Alistair said quickly. “I know just the place.” He moved to Blackwall, grasping his shoulder and giving his hand a firm shake. He paused then, eyes narrowing at something in Blackwall’s face. Evelyn wondered what he was thinking, but the King soon continued speaking. “It’s good to see another Warden here. I have been serving as the Warden-Commander of Ferelden in Solona’s absence, but we are still rebuilding. Most of the Warden’s are in Amaranthine under my Constable, Nathaniel Howe. As a result, I don’t see many of us.”

“It is… good to be here,” Blackwall replied stiffly. “I am Gordon Blackwall.”

“Have you conducted many Joining ceremonies before, Blackwall?” Alistair asked. 

“None, I’m afraid,” Blackwall admitted. “I was only recently made a recruiter.” 

“None?” Varric repeated, frowning. “I thought you said you’d done this before!”

“I said I had the proper materials!” Blackwall growled. “I said nothing about having actually conducted the Joining!”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, no need to argue,” Alistair said quickly, chuckling disarmingly. “It’s not as difficult as it seems. In fact, gathering the materials is the main problem. But if you have those, well then I could do the ritual myself, if you’d prefer!”

Blackwall nodded in obvious relief.

“It’s settled then!” Alistair extended a hand to Felix, who had watched the exchange rather nervously. The young man hesitantly left his father’s side and walked to the king, who slung an arm around his shoulders amiably as they walked to the doors, talking all the while. Blackwall followed them likely a surly black watchdog. Shortly afterwards, Anora announced her departure as well, talking the soldiers with her. They were going to secure the castle for the return of the bann, she announced. Had they need of her, she would be in the Ferelden camp.

Evelyn watched them leave, finding the whole encounter a bit of a blur. Now that it was over, she wanted nothing more than to find a place to sleep. It didn’t even have to be a bed - a pallet, a blanket, even a pile of straw would have sufficed at that moment. 

Well, perhaps not a pile of straw. It didn’t agree with her sinuses. 

“So,” Varric said, sidling up to her. “You’ve met the King and Queen of Ferelden. Thoughts?”

“The Queen seems like everything a queen should be,” Evelyn replied quietly. “Beautiful, imposing, strong… but the King… he’s… not what I expected.”

Varric chuckled. “He gets that a lot.”

“How do you know him, Varric?” she asked. “You spoke like old friends.”

“We  _ are _ old friends, Snaps.” He paused. “As to how we met… well, that’s a long story. To keep it short, let’s just say that the King had a job for someone with a very particular set of skills. I was able to provide my services.”

“...You wrote love poetry for the King of Ferelden?”

“What?” Varric snorted. “No!” 

“It’s alright, Varric, your secret is safe with me.”

“You’re as bad as Hawke, Snaps.”

“What can I say? He’s rubbing off on me.”

Varric laughed outright at that. “I’m sure he is, Snaps. I’m sure he is.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, back from vacation! Disney is super fun, but I cannot imagine being there any longer than 3 days. It took me a week to recover. But the food is legit. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! As always, a big shout-out to my pal bushviper for beta-ing this <3 Feedback is much loved and appreciated!


	21. New Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edric goes to speak with Cassandra, and Evelyn owns up to her feelings for Hawke.

Hawke awoke slowly, comfortably warm and nestled in a pool of blankets. He was in someone’s tent; a desk to his left was beladen with various papers and several lamps, their flames shielded from the air by thin glass.  _ How long have I been out? _ he wondered absently, shifting into a half-seated position. The tightness around his chest suggested his wounds had been bandaged, and the faint taste of elfroot in his mouth suggested someone had given him healing draughts. It must have been some length of time since he’d fainted then. He snorted in embarrassment - fainting from exhaustion. He hadn’t done that in, well… how long had it been since Evelyn had found him?

The last thing that he remembered was the pain and weariness threatening to overtake him, and then the world had begun swaying, and then -

_ Corypheus. _

The name filled him with dread. But Alexius had to have been mistaken. That ancient magister was dead - Hawke had driven the tip of his staff through the mage’s body himself, had watched him bleed out. Corypheus had not survived that encounter. He was  _ sure _ of it. Unless… unless there was some evil magic that called one back from the grave. 

He shivered despite the heat of the tent. It was only then that he noticed that someone had removed his armor and shirt. Half-healed purple bruises dotted his chest, giving his skin a rather splotchy appearance. Testing his luck, he wriggled around a bit and was rewarded with a lance of pain through his ribs.  _ Not quite back to normal, then, _ he observed, gritting his teeth against the ache. 

He looked up as the tent flap opened suddenly, revealing none other than the King of Ferelden himself. 

“Champion!” he said, smiling. He immediately grabbed a stool and sat down at the side of Hawke’s cot - or, the King’s cot, as it more likely was. Had Alistair taken him to his  _ own _ tent? “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” Hawke admitted.

“You worried us for a moment.”

Hawke flashed his best grin, attempting to stave off more concern for his health. “I assure you, nothing’s wounded but my pride,” he replied. 

“Your pride?”

“Well, fainting in front of an audience wasn’t exactly my best moment,” Hawke said.

Alistair chuckled. “Of course,” he said. He clapped his hands together once, and changed the topic. “We’ve scheduled a medic to come and check on the rest of your wounds later, but it’s good to see that you’re looking a bit better! Now, onto other matters.”

“Other matters?”

“Felix.”

“Ah.” Hawke paused, wondering how the Joining ceremony had gone. Had he survived? “Did he…?”

“He’s alive, if that’s what you mean,” Alistair said quickly. “He woke up about an hour ago, no worse for the wear.” He let out a weak laugh. “Well, I suppose that’s debatable, what with the Taint and all.” 

Hawke released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  _ He survived. Good. _ “What will you do with him now?” he asked.

Alistair shrugged. “There’s always a spot for him here in Ferelden,” he said. “We’ll journey north on our return to Denerim. I’ll escort him to Amaranthine myself; my Constable, Howe, can take over his training there. Has he any skills that you know of?”

“The other mage, Dorian, would know better than me,” Hawke admitted. “The two of them were rather close, from what I’ve gathered.” 

“I’ll have to ask,” the King replied, nodding. He paused then, an uncertain expression finding its way onto his face. There was something else that he wished to talk about; this wasn’t merely a discussion of the outcome of the Joining.

“What is it?” Hawke prompted, curious.

Alistair’s hazel eyes flicked over to him once, and then returned to the floor of the tent. He was wringing his hands together, fiddling with his fingers. Was he… nervous? Uncertain?  _ What could he possibly say that has him so flustered? _

“It’s… Warden Blackwall,” he said quietly. He looked up at Hawke. “Where did you find him?”

“In the Hinterlands. He was living on his own, training farmers to defend themselves from bandits.” 

“I see.” Alistair was quiet for a long time before he said anything else. “It’s odd, that.”

“Blackwall?” Hawke said, attempting to alleviate the tension. “I agree - he is an odd fellow. Growls more than he talks. Perhaps he was a bear transformed into a man by some spell?"

The other man snorted. “That’s not what I meant.” 

“Then I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“The man’s not a Warden.”

_...what?  _

Hawke had always felt as if there was something off about Blackwall. First, there was the fact that he had been inhabiting a cabin in the woods, despite claiming to be a recruiter for the Wardens. And then, even after Evelyn had recruited him into the Inquisition, the man had been something of a recluse, keeping to himself. He worked hard around camp, and fought as well as any of them. But there had always been something strange about him, something that wasn’t quite right. Hawke had never been able to deduce what it was. 

As it turned out, all he had needed was another Warden.

“He has all the trappings of a senior Warden,” Alistair continued, ignoring Hawke’s perturbed expression, “copies of the treaties the ancient Wardens made with the countries of Thedas, the Joining materials, armor and weapons bearing our sigil and made of silverite…” He shook his head. “But he’s not a Warden. I can’t sense the Taint in him. Unless he’s new, I should be able to sense his presence. And he can’t be new if he has the Joining materials. We don’t just hand out Archdemon blood to everyone, you know.” 

“So he’s lying,” Hawke said flatly.

“At best. At worst, he’s a murderer and a thief.” 

“He… doesn’t seem the type.”

Alistair sighed. “I agree,” he said. “I’ve known a lot of really, really bad people in my life, Hawke. Really,  _ really _ evil men. And women. Monsters.” He shook his head. “Blackwall doesn’t strike me as one of them.” 

“Perhaps he’s an impeccable actor.”

“That’s unsettling.”

“So what do we do?” Hawke settled back into blankets, carefully crossing his arms over his chest. “Do we out him? Confront him? Stick him in a barrel and throw him in the nearest river?”

The King chuckled. “Tempting a prank as that third option sounds… I believe we should wait. See what comes out of this. Maybe there’s something that we’re missing here. I don’t know what it could be, but there’s always a chance we don’t have all the information.”

“Patience,” Hawke sighed, “never was a strong suit of mine.”

“Nor mine,” Alistair said, grinning. “Lucky for us, I’m sure we have other things to keep us busy while we see what happens.” He stood. “I’ve arranged to sleep in the Queen’s tent tonight so that you can stay here. Are you feeling up to visitors? You’re quite popular, it seems. My guards have had to shoo people away with sticks!”

“What are your guards doing carrying sticks?”

“Fetching kindling, mostly.”

Hawke laughed at the glib response, though it quickly turned into a pained grimace as his ribs protested. He rubbed at the bandages absently, wishing more than ever that he’d asked Bethany to teach him some healing spells. Perhaps he could ask one of the rebel mages on the way back to Haven. Though he supposed they weren’t technically rebel mages now, but Inquisition mages. It was complicated.

“Hawke?” Alistair prompted. 

“Evelyn,” he replied automatically. His eyes snapped back on Alistair. “I would like to see Evelyn.”

“She seems… very fond of you,” Alistair replied, grinning. 

“I tried to warn her about my dastardly reputation, but I’m afraid she just couldn’t stay away.”

“And here I thought it was  _ you _ who couldn’t stay away from  _ her. _ ”

Hawke frowned. “What have you heard?”

“Varric’s a wonderful storyteller, Hawke. I’ve never understood why you dislike  _ The Tale of the Champion _ so much!”

Hawke scowled. “I’m going to throttle that dwarf,” he muttered. 

“Oh, don’t be angry at him,” Alistair replied. “He was just following the King’s orders. Besides.” He paused to pull a worn letter from the inside of his jacket pocket. “He told me to give you this when you woke up. It arrived just an hour ago, forwarded to me from Leliana.” 

“Why didn’t he give it to me himself?”

“Perhaps he sensed the impending throttling.”

“Hmm.” Hawke reached over to take the letter; the envelope was blank, made of plain off-white parchment. It could have been sent by anyone.  

“I’ll go and find Evelyn.”

Hawke looked up and nodded. “My thanks, Your Majesty.” 

He ripped open the seal keeping the envelope together as soon as the tent flap settled. Pulling out the dry pages, he quickly smoothed them out and turned them over. 

He grinned as soon as he saw his given name written across the top of the page. There were only three people in the world who would possibly address him as such. The first was his several times removed Aunt Lenore - dreadful woman, really. He’d only met her the one time, after restoring the Amell fortune. She’d refused to speak with him before that, convinced he was a rogue peasant after the family fortune. He’d not hidden his dislike of her when they’d sat down for tea, so he rather doubted she was writing to him. 

The second person, of course, was Evelyn. But she wouldn’t send him a letter when he was always within fifty feet of her. 

That left only one remaining candidate. And given the cramped, scrawl of the author’s handwriting, he was rather sure of who had written to him. 

Carver.

*

Edric was nervous.

It was… an unusual feeling, one to which he was not accustomed. He was familiar with anxiety and worry, of course; it was a rare soldier who went into battle without some sort of trepidation. Such caution was also very practical, in a way, quite useful - a heightened awareness often alerted you to danger that when missed, was potentially fatal. But that was a very different sort of feeling than the current fluttery state of his stomach, a sensation which he felt offered no benefits. 

The lights in Cassandra’s tent were still lit; he had told her to expect him after he met with Josephine about the logistics of incorporating the Templars into the Inquisition’s ranks. She would be waiting for him, prepared for a discussion. Why, then, did he feel so… unsteady? 

Suddenly, the tent flap burst open, revealing a rather perturbed looking Cassandra. She started when she saw Edric. 

“Edric,” she said, frowning. “I… I thought I saw someone loitering outside my tent, but… it is you. Why did you not tell me you were here?”

“I was just...” he broke off, having no appropriate answer, and cleared his throat. “Might I… might I come in?”

She said nothing, stepping out of the way and holding open the flap for him. He ducked inside, quickly taking a look around. Though he had occasionally visited Cassandra in her own quarters, he’d never really stopped to look at his surroundings. He had always been focused, intent upon duty, strategy, or whatever it was he had needed to discuss with her. Now that his motives were more personal, he found himself taking the time to observe her accommodations. Perhaps it was a stall tactic, he realized. The thought made him snort, though the sound was mirthless. 

The tent was very organized, but sparsely decorated. Cassandra’s armor was neatly placed upon a stand in one corner, and in the other corner sat a cot piled with simple wool blankets. Beside that was a small camp table, stacked high with books with covers that Edric didn’t recognize. A small vase of fragrant, red flowers stood next to them, surprising him. 

_ I didn’t know that she liked flowers. Or that she liked to read, _ he thought. He took a step forward, looking for titles. 

Cassandra hastily stepped into his line of vision, knocking the books over with a deft swipe. The vase wobbled on the table ominously, nearly falling to the ground. Edric raised an eyebrow at that, but she said nothing, her pink cheeks speaking for her. 

_ She’s embarrassed. Whatever for, I wonder? _

“You wished to speak with me,” she reminded him. 

“I did,” he replied. 

But where to begin? 

He supposed that he owed her some sort of explanation for what had transpired when the demon had crawled inside his mind. It would provide the context for what he truly had to say, the real reason behind his visit - this strange connection he now felt with her. 

With a sigh, he sat down upon the edge of the cot. Cassandra remained standing. 

“You must really not want me to see what it is that you’ve been reading,” he said, smiling. 

“I… no,” she said quickly, taking a seat beside him. “That is not at all what I am doing.” 

“Not at all,” he agreed.

She made a face at him. “If you only came here to tease me,” she began. 

Edric shook his head, his smile fading. “Cassandra, no,” he said. “I…” He cleared his throat again. “It is difficult to begin.”  

She waited patiently until he could form the words. As he began to recall his tale of how the Envy demon had attacked him from within, her eyes stayed locked upon his face. She never once spoke during his recollection, merely giving a nod or shake of the head to indicate that she was still listening. When he reached the part where the Envy demon had taunted him with Cassandra’s opinion of him, he slowed, finding it hard to continue to speak. 

“It said that you would be disappointed in me for failing,” Edric admitted. “That you would be disgusted at how weak I was.”

“I-”

“It said you would be ashamed at how I had failed the Inquisition, when you had been depending on me for help.”

“It was a demon,” Cassandra said emphatically, “a  _ demon _ , Edric. It said what it thought that it needed to in order to break you. But it did not succeed.”

“I know,” he agreed. He stared at her for a moment, studying the way her brown eyes were fixed solely upon him and nothing else. “But that’s exactly it, Cassandra - I knew that what it was saying was wrong. Instantly, it alerted me to the demon’s wiles. And it made me angry.”

“Angry?"

“Angry that it would try to use you against me,” he admitted. “Angry that it thought I did not know you any better than that.” 

She didn’t reply to that, instead fidgeting nervously. When she did speak, her voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “How did you know it was wrong?” she asked. 

“Because the real you would never fault me for having a moment of weakness,” he replied, chancing a small smile at her. “The real you would pick me up, dust me off, and tell me to keep going. You would not shame me, nor would you allow me wallow in self-pity.”

The flush returned to her cheeks at the praise. “You... think highly of me,” she said slowly. 

“I do,” he said easily. “I always have. And I must thank you.”

“Thank me?” she repeated, surprised. “For what?”

“When the demon was taunting me… it was your voice that spurred me on,” he admitted. “I recalled the words you spoke to me back in Kirkwall, when you were attempting to recruit me for the Inquisition.  _ You _ helped me break free from the demon’s spell.”

She snorted. “Hardly,” she scoffed, downplaying her role in his escape. 

He reached over to grab her arm, trying to make her realize that he was serious. “Cassandra,” he said, “please believe me. Were it not for me recalling your words, I might have never returned from Envy’s clutches.”   

“You should have more faith in yourself,” she snapped. 

Edric shook his head. He was going about this wrong; she wasn’t understanding the point he was attempting to make. How did he get her to see?

“This isn’t about me doubting my own abilities,” he said. He paused for a moment, peering intently at Cassandra. “When I was at my weakest, Cassandra, it was  _ you _ who brought me back to my senses.  _ You  _ were the one who spoke to my deepest self,  _ you _ who brought me back from the brink. Not anyone else. It wasn’t Evelyn, or my brother, Ewan, or my parents. It wasn’t any of the Templars who trained me, men I deeply respected and admired. It was  _ you. _ ”

The flush on her cheeks deepened, and she looked down at her lap. His hand was still gripping her arm, he noticed. She hadn’t thrown it off, nor did he want to remove it. 

“What are you saying, Edric?” Her voice was rough, uncertain. She refused to meet his gaze. 

“I don’t know,” he replied. It was the truth - he wasn’t sure what to make of this revelation. He didn’t know what it meant. But surely it was important. There was something between them that hadn’t been there before, or perhaps he was just now noticing it. He felt it needed to be given light. “But it must mean something.”

“Something,” she scoffed, shaking her head. 

“Do you have a better suggestion about what to call it?” he asked. 

“No!” she snapped. 

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face in frustration.

“It is just…” As Cassandra continued to speak, Edric paused, his hand lowering to his lap. “What you said, just a moment ago… it almost sounded like… like…” 

“Like what, Cassandra?”

“No, I am mistaken. It could not be.” She rose to her feet and moved to reassemble the stack of books she had knocked onto the ground. Her hands were shaking, Edric noticed -  _ shaking. _ That was odd; Cassandra was normally so unflappable, so constant. What would have her so… he found that he couldn’t discern what it was she was feeling. Anger? Embarrassment? Fear? 

He moved closer to her, grabbing at her hand as it passed him. “What couldn’t it be?”

She froze, rigid in his grip. 

“I should not say,” she replied softly. 

“Please,” he said, attempting to stifle the open curiosity he was feeling. “Tell me what you were going to say.”

“It sounded like a declaration of love!” she finally snapped, whipping her hand away as she stalked over to the corner opposite him. 

Edric found that his mouth had suddenly gone dry.  _ Love. _ She had done it - she had put a word to the connection he had sensed between them. Was it the right word? He wasn’t sure. But he also knew that he was incapable of thinking up a better descriptor. They were friends, battle allies, comrades… but… love? 

He looked up to Cassandra then, attempting to gauge her reaction. Her cheeks were tinged with scarlet, and though she was refusing to meet his gaze, her posture remained strong and unafraid. She was waiting for him to respond, preparing herself for any possible outcome. A thought struck him then, one that had never before occurred to him. And suddenly it all made sense - her reaction, her reticence to speak her mind. 

_ Oh, Cassandra. _

“Do you want it to be?”

Whatever she’d prepared herself for it, it didn’t appear that she’d readied herself for  _ that. _ “What?” she asked dumbly, eyes snapping to his in her confusion. 

“What if it was a declaration?” he asked, coming to his feet. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs now; when had it begun to beat so loudly? He tried to push it out of his consciousness, irritated at the distraction. To his annoyance, it only began to thrum louder. 

“I… that’s a ridiculous question,” she replied. “It was not.”

Edric walked over to her, though he made sure to give her a few feet of space. “Cassandra,” he said quietly, “answer the question.”

“No.”

“Cassandra -”

“ _ Edric -” _

“Do you want it to be a declaration?” 

She stared up at him defiantly even as the blush across her cheeks deepened. She wasn’t going to answer him, he realized, but at the same time, he discovered that there was no need for it. Her eyes said what her mouth would not. 

He was an idiot. 

How had he not seen this? How he missed it? He was blind, a blind, idiotic fool. 

And it had hurt her. He was hurting her now, he could see that. She thought he was teasing her, not taking the matter seriously. It couldn’t have been farther from the truth, but something in his gut stirred at the raw emotion in her eyes, desperately crying out for him to fix this. 

“Edric.” His name called him back from his thoughts. Cassandra had finally looked away, hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I think you should leave.”

“Cassandra-”

“Go.”

“No.” Cassandra whipped her head back up, the vehemence in his voice surprising even him. 

“No?” she repeated, a touch of anger there. “It was not a request!”

“Nevertheless, I’m not listening,” he said, edging a few steps closer to her.

She jerked back. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

He raised his hands defensively, indicating that he meant her no harm. “I want to try something,” he said. 

Before she had time to react, he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. She inhaled sharply, the sound swallowed by the sudden roaring of his heart in his head. And then she melted against him, her mouth gone pliant as she yielded to the kiss.

_ Oh, Maker. _

It was perfect. He’d kissed many women in his life, but never before had it felt like  _ this. _ It didn’t feel like a first kiss, where one might be so anxious about how the kiss would be received that the interaction became awkward. He still felt the same nervousness from earlier, but it had changed, shifted into a sort of nervous excitement, accompanied by a tingling sensation spreading outwards from where his fingers touched Cassandra’s face, where his lips met hers. It felt… good. Wonderfully, perfectly  _ good. _

Edric drew away, looking down at her curiously. Her brows had snapped down over her eyes, giving an intensity to her face that it had lacked a moment ago. She didn’t allow him to retreat, taking a step forward with her hands reaching out to him. 

This time it was he who took a step back. “What are you doing?” he asked, wondering for a moment if he had terribly misjudged the situation.

“I want to try something,” she murmured.  

And then she moved forward to kiss him, and he was lost.

*

“Eh-hem.”

Evelyn looked up, and quickly stood when she recognized the queen. “Your Majesty,” she said, bowing in what she hoped was an appropriate demonstration of respect. “Thank you for letting me bathe here. And for the clothes,” she added, fingering the soft velvet tunic she’d been gifted with upon arriving at the Fereldan camp. 

“It is nothing,” the queen replied, smiling. “And please, call me Anora. We need not be so formal when it is just the two of us.” She walked over to where Evelyn stood, motioning for her to sit even as she pulled up another stool for herself. She paused for a moment, gathering her skirts about herself, before speaking again. “How are you feeling?”

“I am well,” Evelyn replied. “A bit tired, but that’s all.” 

“Would you care for something to eat?” 

“I-”

“Of course you would,” the queen said to herself, chuckling. “You’ve probably not eaten in hours. Helena!” A short, stout woman stumbled into the tent, her face attentive. “Would you please bring some refreshments for Evelyn and me? The poor girl’s famished.”

“At once, Your Majesty!” 

Anora turned back to Evelyn as the woman scurried out of the tent. “Will you eat with me?” she asked.

“O-of course!” 

“I promise it will only take a moment,” Anora continued. She reached towards a nearby table, procuring two glasses and a carafe of sweetly fragrant wine. She poured one for herself and then one for Evelyn. “You no doubt wish to go to your Champion’s side.”

Evelyn flushed, taking a sip of the wine to hide her embarrassment. It was good, much better than the cheap wine her father had sometimes been given by the vintners he supplied. She took another sip before replying. “He’s not  _ my _ Champion.”

Anora chuckled. “That’s not what I have heard,” she said. 

_ But who would she have heard anything from? _ Evelyn wondered.  _ Who would… Varric. _ She scowled as she realized exactly what had happened. Where was he? He had no right to go around telling the  _ Queen of Ferelden _ about her personal relationships! 

“Your friend from Tevinter is quite the gossip,” Anora continued. “And much more charming than I would have assumed.”

Evelyn blinked, her irritation fading fast. “Dorian?” she asked flatly. “Dorian told you?”

Anora paused. “Of course,” she said. “Who did you think told me?”

Guilt rose up within her then, and she made a mental note to think twice before she made more assumptions. She would have to be extra kind to Varric for the next few days to make up for it. 

“What exactly did he say?” she asked, eager to fill the silence that had fallen between them.

“I believe he used the phrase ‘shamelessly smitten’ when describing the Champion’s affections for you.”

Evelyn’s face burned, and she hastily took another gulp of wine. It was too much, and she choked, sputtering for a moment. Anora was quite gracious, saying nothing. Helena returned with the food a moment later, saving Evelyn from further embarrassment. It was simple camp fare, a thick stew of venison and potatoes, but quite welcome in Evelyn’s eyes. She tried not to shovel it into her mouth too fast, but she feared she’d never be able to master the queen’s dainty, controlled bites. 

“So was he correct?”

Evelyn blinked in surprise, swallowing the bite of stew in her mouth.  “About…?”

“Is the Champion in love with you?”

_ Love. _

“I…” She trailed off, unsure of how to respond. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t considered it, when she’d had the time to think about her relationship with Hawke at all. He obviously cared for her a great deal, and she for him. But was it love? Was that what she was feeling, what he felt towards her? They hadn’t had the time to discuss it, to put words to their emotions. 

She had never been in love with anyone before. Her relationships with the young men in her village had been trivial, more for enjoyment than anything serious. And they were very different from what she felt towards one Garrett Hawke, paling in comparison. 

“I do not mean to put you on the spot,” Anora said lightly, drawing her attention once more. 

“No, you aren’t,” Evelyn said, shaking her head. “I just… I don’t know.” She snorted. “I care for him a great deal. More than anyone else I have ever been involved with.” 

Anora nodded. “He makes your world a bit brighter, doesn’t he?” she asked, smiling. “Though these are troubled times, he makes the days just a bit better. And because of that, you keep him close. You need him.”

It was precisely the way that she thought about Hawke, albeit much more elegantly put. She  _ did _ need him. At first, that need had been simple: she had had to find her brother, and Hawke had presented the best opportunity for her to get to him. Now that need had transformed into something quite different, something much more powerful. She no longer needed him as the means to an end, but as a comfort she was no longer certain how to go without. She feared that without his presence at her side, as both her battle companion and her confidant, she wouldn’t be able to face the trials to come. The Breach? Demons? A war? She couldn’t face those things alone; no person could. 

She needed him. 

But did he need her? 

She liked to think so. Varric had confided in her once that he’d never seen Hawke smile so much, that it had been a long time since he’d seen his friend so happy. It pleased her to think that perhaps she was the cause of that joy. 

“It’s much how I feel about Alistair,” Anora continued, not appearing to notice Evelyn’s whirlwind of thoughts. “When I first met him, I found him to be the most odious man alive. He never took anything seriously and was always making jokes. I positively detested him. And then Solona took my father away from me, leaving me completely alone, and announced I was to marry Alistair, be his queen...” She sighed. “It was not my happiest moment, though I knew that Ferelden needed me. I resigned myself to my fate; it was more important that the kingdom have united monarchs than I be marry for love.

“But then… despite everything, I found myself admiring him. He is a good man, and he has tried very hard to make me happy. Eventually, I came to find his sense of humor witty rather than juvenile, and his annoying habits turned into charming quirks. I took the chance to get to know him, and really discovered who he was.” She smiled, a sweet, happy smile that had Evelyn returning the gesture. “I fell in love with him then. And I need him. He is all the family that I have now.” Her smile turned into a smirk, and she winked at Evelyn. “It doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome, no?”

Evelyn laughed. “That never hurts,” she agreed.

Anora returned to her stew, daintily taking another bite. Evelyn, her own stew completely gone, set her bowl to the side and wiped her hands clean with a cloth napkin. Though she didn’t want to be rude, she found herself longing to go to Hawke. The queen’s story had resonated with her, reminding her of how she had come to know Garrett. 

How she had come to love him.

_ There. You said it. Or, thought it.  _

Having admitted that to herself, a strange sort of giddiness shot through her. Should she tell him? Was it appropriate? Perhaps she should wait until he said something to her first. That was what Ewan had always said: never tell someone you loved them until you were sure they loved you first. But then again, Ewan’s record with women was not exactly sterling, so she wasn’t sure it was his judgment she should be trusting. 

“Go.”

Evelyn looked up in surprise, for it was not Anora who had spoken. The King was standing in the tent’s entryway, the smile on his face aimed at his wife. “He’s asking for you,” the King continued, eyes flicking over to Evelyn for a moment before moving back to Anora. There was open adoration there, and a tenderness Evelyn had seen before in the looks her father gave her mother. She felt like observing it was almost an intrusion. 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said quickly, rising to her feet. “For… for everything.”

Alistair waved a hand. “It’s nothing,” he said. “The work that you are doing for our countrymen is more than I could ever imagine asking of anyone. And you give your efforts freely, with no ulterior motive. The least I can do is see you on your way. And help heal your Champion.”

Evelyn scowled despite herself. “He’s not  _ my _ Champion!” she said hotly. 

Alistair grinned at her. “You have him wrapped around your littlest finger,” he replied. He motioned over his shoulder with a hand. “I wouldn’t keep him waiting, though. He’s liable to come find you himself if you don’t go to him.”

That did sound like Hawke. Evelyn bowed one more time to the royals before exiting the tent. Alistair flipped it closed behind her, and she scuttled away, anxious not to intrude upon… whatever it was that was about to happen there. 

The King’s tent stood in the center of the camp. It was easy to spot, even from her distance. Its size alone marked it as such, but the numerous guards standing around the massive tent in a circle, weapons at the ready, were also a good indication of its owner. She stepped up to the entrance hesitantly, unsure if they knew she was allowed inside. One of the guards, sensing her confusion, nodded her in. Evelyn gave him a grateful smile before stepping into the dim light of the tent. 

The faint, almost astringent scent of elfroot met her nostrils. That worried her a bit - a mage would have left no trace of his visit, healing Hawke’s wounds seamlessly. Had the Ferelden royal couple not had a mage to spare?  _ You shouldn’t complain, _ she chastised herself upon further reflection.  _ They brought him to the King’s own tent, and have had him treated by their own medics. That is more than enough. _

And Hawke’s injuries hadn’t been life-threatening. Serious, yes, but not fatal. 

It took her a while to find her lover amidst the pile of blankets on the bed. He’d cocooned himself inside them, it seemed, with only the top of his face visible. He looked to be asleep, the blankets slowly rising and falling with his breaths. 

Evelyn walked over and sat down on the bed beside him. To her surprise, his brown eyes snapped open. She jerked back, startled, and nearly fell onto the ground in the process. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said. 

“You didn’t,” he replied, moving to sit up. She couldn’t help but notice the grimace he made as he moved, and the blankets slipped down to reveal a set of bandages wound tight round his chest. His skin was still purpled with bruises, scrapes, and cuts. It was an ugly reminder of what could have happened, and she swallowed to ease the sudden dryness in her throat. “Your ribs are still bothering you?”

“You know how it is,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Can’t do much for broken ribs except sit still. The healing draughts they gave me took most of the pain away, anyways.”

“I wish we had a mage to heal you,” she admitted. 

“I wish I knew more spells,” he agreed. 

“But you’re alright?”

He smiled, settling a hand on her knee. “Now that you’re here? Never better.”

Evelyn didn’t reply, hesitant to speak more on the incident in the strange future they had visited. She knew Garrett wouldn’t want her to worry about him, but that seemed an impossible task. It had just… when she’d seen him lying there after his fight with the pride demon, in a pool of his own blood… it wasn’t an image she thought that she would ever completely erase from her mind, nor was it something that she ever wanted to see again. But given the situation with the Breach, such scenarios were always possible.

“Hey,” he murmured, noticing her discomfort. “What’s the matter?”

She shook her head mutely. 

“Do I smell?” he asked. “Sorry about that. I’ve not been allowed to leave the bed since they brought me here.”

“No, you don’t smell,” she said, smiling despite herself. “Or at least, not that I’ve noticed.”

“Then what is it?”

She looked up at him cautiously. “This is going to keep happening, isn’t it?” she asked. 

“I certainly hope not,” he replied. “Two men with the knowledge of how to warp time is bad enough. Let’s hope we can convince them to never go to the future again. Or the past.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s only going to get harder from here. The battles, the demons, the politics… it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

“Probably,” he admitted. 

“Any of us could end up injured… or dead,” she said. “Varric, Blackwall, Dorian… you.”

“Ah.” He shifted on the blankets, motioning her closer. “That’s what’s bothering you.”

“It’s not irrational!” she snapped, her words heated even as she let him draw her body towards his, settling her between his legs. “That is a perfectly legitimate fear!”

“I never said it wasn’t,” he replied easily. 

“I don’t want to lose anyone,” she said stubbornly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I should hope not,” he teased.

“Be serious!”

“Alright,” he said, the grin slipping from his face. He raised a hand to her face, wiping away tears she hadn’t even noticed were there. “I’ll be serious.” He wrapped his arms around her then, burying his head into the side of her neck. “I don’t want to lose you either,” he murmured, his breath tickling her skin. “But I fear you’re right - this is going to get much, much worse before it gets better.”

“You should be more careful,” she said, sniffling. 

“I should,” he agreed. “That’s what Mother always told me. And Fenris. And Aveline. And… well, everybody, now that I think of it.” He sighed. “I’m afraid I’m not a very good listener.” He drew back slightly so that he could look her in the eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“How can I not worry?” she retorted. “I lo-” She inhaled sharply, biting her words off before she said more. Heat flooded her cheeks as he jerked backwards, grabbing one of her wrists with a fierceness that belief his bedridden state. 

“You what?” he asked, his voice low. 

She looked up at him desperately. Why, oh  _ why _ , had she chosen now of all times to reveal this information? She’d only just put a name to her feelings herself! And instead of giving herself time to adjust to this sudden change in her emotional status, she’d gone and given up the secret at the first opportunity. 

Ewan would be so disappointed. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, instinctively trying to ease the awkwardness before it arrived. “I shouldn’t have -”

“Say it,” he murmured. 

“Garrett -”

“Please?”

He didn’t… seem angry, or put off by what she had almost said. In fact, he seemed… moved? Touched? No, that wasn’t quite right. His free hand, still resting against the side of her face, was trembling now. Was the exhaustion catching up with him again? Still, she hesitated, unsure of what to do.

“Evelyn.” His voice was more fervent now, impatient. 

“I…”

“...yes?”

She couldn’t resist the plea in his voice any longer. Steeling herself, she made her admittance. “I can’t help but worry about you, Garrett,” she murmured. “Because I… Because I love you.”

He stared at her for what felt like eternity, and then his mouth was on hers, fierce and heated. Never before had he kissed her with such a sense of urgency, of need. One of his hands twined in her hair, and the other gripped at her waist hard, intent on pulling their bodies even closer together as his lips moved over hers. She moved with him willingly, allowing him to guide their movements entirely, trusting in his instinctual need to get closer to her. 

He twisted, effortlessly pinning her beneath him as he moved to lay atop her. A grunt of pain left his lips then, and Evelyn hesitated, half wondering if they should stop. But then his mouth was back on hers, and all her protests died. She wriggled closer to him, hands inching up bare flesh as she positioned herself more firmly beneath him. In doing so, she accidentally brushed their hips together, and Hawke let out a strangled groan.

His lips went slack at the jostling motion, and he drew away, panting. A moment later, he laughed. “Look at me,” he said, laying his head against Evelyn’s stomach. Her tunic had ridden up with her movements, she noticed, his hair tickling her bare skin. “This concussion has me seeing four of you. My chest feels like an ogre stepped on it. And you must be as exhausted as I am.”

“Do you not… want to go any further?” Evelyn asked. That certainly didn’t seem the case, considering his ardor earlier.

“Of course I want to,” he replied, pressing a light kiss against her stomach. The muscles there tightened of their own accord at the first touch of his lips, and he chuckled. “Maker knows I’ve thought of it. A lot. But I’m afraid if we continue, I am going to make the medics get very,  _ very _ mad at me.” He twisted his head, looking up at her. “Do you want to?”

Feeling suddenly shy, she nodded. “Yes,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. 

“Have you… done this before?” 

She shook her head. The answer didn’t appear to come as a surprise to him. 

“Another time then,” he said, pushing himself up with his arms. “When I can move my torso without inflicting sharp, stabbing pains upon my innards.” 

“Are you sure?” she asked. “You seemed… very intent earlier.”

“And now I’m paying the price with double vision,” he said, moving a hand to hold his head. He paused then, his eyes drifting down to her breasts. “Although… it’s not without certain perks.” 

She rolled her eyes, raising a hand to gently pull him down beside her. “You need to sleep,” she said. 

“So do you,” he pointed out, nestling in beside her. He threw a leg over hers, tangling their feet together, and wrapped an arm around her stomach, not bothering to pull her tunic down to cover it. “Stay with me?”

She nodded, reaching down to pull the blankets over them. It was a bit of a chore, since Hawke was completely unwilling to let her sit her up, and thus lose his skin-to-skin contact, but she managed well enough. When she finished, she let out a huff of satisfaction, turning so that she could face him. 

“I’m glad you’re alright,” she murmured. 

“Me too.” He smiled and kissed her one more time, his lips lingering even now. “Mmmmm. And I do too, you know.”

“What?”

“Love you.” He pulled back, gauging her expression. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier. I should have, but I’m… “ He sighed. “Varric says the term is ‘emotionally scarred’ but I really don’t like using it, because that means agreeing with him. And admitting that he’s right.”

“And we wouldn’t want you to have to do that,” she replied, the giddy feeling rising up through her chest not quite seeping through into her words. She couldn’t help but smile what she was sure was a very silly, tooth-lipped grin, but felt not the least bit embarrassed, for Hawke wore a similarly goofy smile upon his own face. 

“Maker forbid it.”   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I sincerely apologize for the long delay between chapters with this. Summer has been interesting, to say the least. I had some things happen that just totally kill my mood to write anything. And since I HAD to write my Master's Thesis, this kind of got shifted to the back burner. 
> 
> But I found the inspiration to pull out this next chapter, so hopefully it was alright! And hopefully, the inspiration will keep on flowing.
> 
> As always, a big thanks to bushviper for beta-ing this for me! <3


	22. Complete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edric learns of Evelyn's mission in Redcliffe, and Evelyn and Hawke finally get a moment alone.

They set out for Haven at daybreak.

Evelyn drew her cloak more tightly around her as she watched the mages file past her in loose ranks. Many of them were thin, with a harried look to their eyes that made her heart twinge in empathy. Most seemed afraid to look at her, huddling to themselves in small groups as they followed Blackwall and Dorian at the head of the column, mounted on tall horses given to them by the King and Queen of Ferelden. She wished that she had some way of showing them that she meant them no harm. But after all they’d experienced, she doubted that what she intended as words of encouragement and comfort would come across as anything more than trite platitudes. 

With a sigh, she turned her own horse around and nudged it into motion. The mare wasn’t ornery like her pony, Cloud, instead plodding along amiably. She’d not wanted to accept the horse at first - it seemed far too great a gift for  _ all _ of them to get horses from the Fereldan royal couple - but Alistair had insisted. When she’d explained that she already had a horse, he’d just told her to give the mare to Master Dennett when they reached Haven. The old horse master would know what to do with her, he’d said. 

She’d had no choice but to accept, of course. Just as she’d had no choice but to accept the wagons and foodstuffs he’d given them. The King seemed adamant on helping them as best as he could, and she’d gotten the impression that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Varric had just slapped her on the back and told her that there was no shame in giving in sometimes. 

They set a hard pace for the next few days, their travel only broken up by short breaks to water the horses and allow everyone to eat. They would keep on until dusk each day, and Evelyn found herself weary to the bone, barely having the strength to see to her horse before falling asleep in the tent she and Hawke shared. Her lover seemed to share her fatigue, though considering that he was recovering from his injuries, that wasn’t surprising. 

It had been quiet between them since leaving Redcliffe Castle, though not uncomfortably so. For the most part, Hawke dozed as they traveled. Evelyn watched him with a wary eye as they rode, intent upon not letting him fall from the saddle. Sometimes, Varric would come back to share the duty with her, his concerned eyes ever watchful over the Champion. They would speak of nothing important, tactfully avoiding the subject of what had happened in the blasted future. It was something neither of them wanted to revisit. 

A week’s travel, and they were almost halfway to Haven. The ill and the children made for slow going, but they were making steady progress. Evelyn dismounted as soon as the call to stop was sounded, heading over to a nearby pine tree to tether her horse. She made quick work of it, and had turned to her saddlebags when she paused, studying the bustle around her as the mages settled in for the night. 

They needed no direction to set up camp; without any indication that someone was issuing commands, they all began to work together to set up fires and erect the thin, patchy tents they had brought with them. They were a community, Evelyn realized, not just a group of people circumstance had brought together. They cared for each other, many helping a mage nearby before finishing up their own chores for the night. She watched them, mesmerized, until a jostling at her elbow stirred her. 

“Has something caught your eye?”

Evelyn turned at Hawke’s voice. “I was just watching them,” she replied quietly, lowering her voice so the nearest mages wouldn’t hear. “They’ve done this before.”

He nodded. “I imagine they’ve had to rely on each other quite a bit since the Circles fell,” he said. “Such an event tends to bring people together.” He took the saddlebags from her slack hands then, setting them on the ground and beginning to set up their tent. 

“I didn’t realize they were in such dire straits,” she murmured. “They’re so thin… and the children…” She shook her head. “It makes me angry, seeing them like this.”

“Angry?”

“Angry that my brother refused to help them,” she explained. She had to push back the sudden surge of irritation she felt - there was no use getting worked up about it now. Edric wasn’t even here to bear the brunt of her ire. “Instead, he chose to help Templars who willingly chose whom to follow.” 

“Evelyn -”

“I know,” she said quickly, trying to put an end to the conversation before it began. She’d thought about the fight with her brother enough for the past few weeks. She didn’t want to discuss it in depth any further. “It doesn’t matter now, anyways. We have them with us.” She paused, watching him set up the tent with deft, quick movements. She blinked in surprise at the ease with which he moved. Something was different, she noticed. But what…? He rose to his full height then, and she realized what it was.

“You’re standing up straight,” she said bluntly.

He paused, raising an eyebrow at her. “Would you prefer I slouch?” he asked.

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “I thought your ribs made proper posture painful.”

“Oh, it’s been quite painful,” he agreed. “However, I have been taking healing draughts since we left Redcliffe. After a week of the dreadful things, I think my injuries have finally mended!” As if to show off his newfound health, he picked up one of the tent spikes and drove it into the ground with enough force that the wooden stave creaked in protest. 

“Don’t take it out on the tent,” she said warily. “We need that.”

“You don’t want to sleep out in the open?” he asked innocently, adjusting the canvas across the poles. “I’ve heard sleeping under the stars is terribly romantic.”

“And cold.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “It isn’t  _ that  _ cold out.” 

She snorted. “We aren’t all built like bears, you know,” she said. 

“And thank the Maker for that! It’d be much harder to intimidate people if everyone were my size.” He finished assembling the tent, and they placed their belongings inside. Just as she made to enter, he grabbed her elbow. “Not yet,” he murmured. 

She lifted an eyebrow. “What is it?”

He led her away from the fires, towards the woods. “Come on. There’s something I want to show you.”

* 

“What do you mean, she isn’t here?”

Leliana merely gave Edric a cool stare in return, refusing to answer his question. He turned to Josephine, who was just barely hiding her discomfort with a polite smile. “Do you have any idea what she means?” he demanded. 

“Not at all, Edric,” she replied quickly. 

_ Of course she doesn’t. She’s been with you for the past few weeks. No need to snap at her, Trevelyan. Keep your wits about you.  _

Edric took a deep, steadying breath and returned his gaze to the spymaster. “My sister is not here,” he said. “Neither are Hawke and Varric. That mage from Tevinter is missing as well. The only conclusion I can draw from that is that she has gone to Redcliffe in some reckless attempt to save the mages. Am I also right in determining that you helped her do this?”  __

“You are,” Leliana affirmed. “I told her of a secret passageway into the castle, and gave her the aid of my operatives to secure the mages’ freedom.”

It took all of his will not to lash out in anger, a direct response to the panic racing through his mind. How could she have done such a thing? How could Leliana have  _ allowed _ such a thing? Evelyn and Hawke were talented mages, and Varric was more than capable of getting himself out of trouble, but they were but a few upstanding citizens against the might of a Tevinter magister. It would have been dangerous with an entire regiment of Templars and Inquisition soldiers behind them. With just the four… 

He clenched a fist so hard his nails drew blood. The pain drew him back to the present, and he pushed forward. 

“Have you had any word from them?” he asked, teeth clenched tight in restraint.

“As it so happens,” Leliana replied, “I have.” She reached into one of her many pockets and procured an Inquisition report, neatly folded in half. “They are safe. As are the mages that they were intent upon saving.” She held the pages out to him in offering. 

He snatched them out of her hands, only barely mitigating the aggression in the motion with a curt nod of his head. He started for the door, afraid that if he stayed any longer, he would lose control of his emotions. 

“Edric.”

He paused and looked over his shoulder. 

“She did not want to go behind your back,” Leliana said quietly. “But you left her no options.”

Edric snorted contemptuously, his words failing him, before stomping out of the room. He headed straight for the Chantry doors, the cold air and bright sunlight almost dazing him after the dimly lit council chamber. It was refreshing, allowing him a moment of clarity. He breathed in deeply through his nose, closing his eyes as he worked through his emotions. 

If he were honest with himself, he wasn’t mad at Leliana. He wasn’t truly mad at Evelyn either. The anger he felt was more a result of his panic that Evelyn had put herself in a dangerous position and he had not been there to help her. A small part of him was proud of her for standing up for what she believed in. She had done what she thought necessary, taking responsibility for the mages’ lives into her own hands when he had not been willing to do so himself. But a larger part of him was terrified that she’d done so alone. 

Opening his eyes, he slowly began the walk back to his tent. The report in his hand was like a lead weight, begging for him to read it. But he dared not do so just yet, not in this tumultuous state of mind. He would save it for later, when he was calmer. 

Of course, that assumed that later he  _ would _ feel calmer. Perhaps it would be better to just do it, and get it over with before he had time to ruminate more. 

Cassandra was waiting for him in his tent, studying a map of Haven. Various black stones were placed upon the map, representing units of the Templars that had followed them from Therinfal Redoubt. She looked to be placing them in various locations around the lake, spread out just enough to provide them a modicum of privacy from the other soldiers. He was surprised to see her working on the task - normally he would have delegated it to one of Josephine’s clerks. Organization was a skill that group had in spades. 

She looked up as he entered the tent, frowning at whatever expression she saw on his face. “What happened?” she asked, immediately sensing that something was amiss. 

“Evelyn is gone,” Edric said simply. “As are Hawke, Varric, and Dorian.”

Her eyes flashed in understanding. “They went to Redcliffe.”

He nodded sharply. “They went to Redcliffe,” he confirmed. He lifted the report then, letting it fall from his fingers. It landed atop the drawing of the Chantry building, pages opening just enough to reveal Evelyn’s small, precise cursive. He looked away, refusing to read even a sentence. “And it appears that they succeeded.”

“Succeeded at what?” Cassandra asked slowly. 

He gestured towards the report. “I haven’t read it yet,” he admitted. 

She reached for the paper, but then seemed to think better of it, staying her hand. 

“Go ahead,” Edric said quietly, motioning to the report. “Tell me what it says.”

For a few moments, there was silence as Cassandra pored over the document. She made no noise as she read, nothing to tell Edric what sort of information the report contained. He wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad sign. He grew anxious as he waited for her to finish, the urge to tap his foot in impatience growing. 

When she finished, she set the report down quietly. 

“Well?” he demanded. “What did it say?”

“Your sister,” Cassandra began, “has offered the mages a formal alliance. They will be members of the Inquisition after they have aided her in sealing the Breach.” She looked down at the map then, and scowled, pushing the black rocks aside. “I am going to have to rework everything.”

“A formal alliance?” he repeated. “But we have already made an alliance with the Templars!”

“She did not know that,” Cassandra pointed out. “She was not there.”

That was a fair point, he supposed. But that did not make the current situation any easier. He rubbed a hand over his face in frustration, barely suppressing a sigh. 

“What are we going to do?” he asked, not entirely expecting an answer. “Having both mages and Templars in the camp? They’ll tear each other to pieces.”

“No.” Cassandra shook her head firmly, though her eyes remained fixed upon the map. She was slowly adding white stones - representing the mages - to the pile at the side of the table. “We will not allow them to do that.”

“I fear it will be difficult to stop them.”

“We will remind them that they are now soldiers of the Inquisition,” she replied firmly. All of the stones accounted for, she now began slowly replacing them on the map, organizing them carefully so that the mage and Templar sections weren’t too close to one another. But neither were they too far apart, he noticed. “As soldiers, they must set aside their personal feelings and work for the good of the Inquisition. Insubordination will be punished, whether it comes from a mage or a Templar.”

“I wonder how the leader of the mages will feel about that,” Edric mused. 

Cassandra shrugged. “For the moment, they have no leader,” she replied. “Evelyn deposed Fiona.”

He quirked an eyebrow at that. Evelyn, deposing people? Despite how irritated he was, he had to admit that  _ that  _ was a conversation that he would have liked to have witnessed. 

“Who will they chose as their new leader, do you think?”

She shrugged. “Hopefully someone with more sense than to sell her people into slavery,” she said, her glaring disapproval of the previous leader’s actions obvious. 

“Hopefully,” he agreed. 

Having completed organizing the new layout of the camp, Cassandra straightened and turned to him, crossing her arms over her chest. She studied his face for a moment, peering at him with intense, thoughtful eyes. “You are worried about her.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “Of course I am,” he replied. “She’s my sister.”

“But not angry.”

He sighed. “Not truly, no.” 

“What will you do, when she returns?”

There. She had asked it, the question lingering in the backs of both of their minds. 

What was he going to do when Evelyn returned? 

He had not given Evelyn any sort of injunction forbidding her from helping the mages. To be honest, he hadn’t thought that she’d go against his wishes; it had seemed too dangerous a quest to take on with such a limited group of people. But she’d proved him quite wrong. She had firmly believed that rescuing the mages from slavery had been the proper course of action, and had acted on those beliefs. Could he punish her for doing what she thought was right?

Were she a simple soldier in the Inquisition’s ranks, it might have been an easier decision. Had one of his men disobeyed him, he would have seen the man properly disciplined, as per traditional military procedures. But Evelyn was not one of his soldiers - she was his sister. More than that, she was an important asset to the Inquisition, arguably much more important than he was himself. She didn’t answer to him. So how could he punish her?

His thoughts circulated over the same arguments over and over for several long minutes. He could feel a headache beginning to form behind his eyes, and he pinched his nose in an attempt to stall its progress. 

“I don’t know,” he finally answered, looking up to Cassandra. “I don’t know that I’m going to do anything.”

She nodded after a moment’s contemplation. “I see.”

“Do you disagree?”

“I… cannot say,” she admitted. “What your sister did was brave, noble even. And I am happy that a Tevinter magister will not be taking the mages back as slaves. But what she did was also foolish.” Her voice hardened. “We cannot lose her, Edric. Without your sister, we have no way of closing the rifts. It was reckless of her to go to Redcliffe without any sort of aid. She cannot do such a thing again!”

He nodded in agreement. Cassandra’s thoughts mirrored his own, then. That knowledge comforted him and slowed his racing thoughts a bit. 

With a slight grunt of effort, he pushed himself to his feet and made to leave the tent. “I should go and speak with Ser Barris, inform him that we will have mages coming soon,” he said. “He’ll need to prepare his men. And we’ll need to inform him that hostility to mages won’t be tolerated.”

Cassandra nodded. “I will go, too,” she said, shooting a scowl towards the map. “I have seen enough maps for one day.”

He caught her as she walked by him, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. 

When he drew away, he chuckled at the wide-eyed expression on her face. 

“What was that for?” she asked, startled.  

“A show of my gratitude,” he replied, “for listening to me, sharing your opinions with me. I appreciate them, Cassandra.”

She flushed. “It is nothing,” she murmured.

“Not to me.”

She fidgeted for a moment, at a loss for words, and then cleared her throat, motioning to the tent. “We should go to Ser Barris,” she said firmly. “We do not know when the mages will arrive, and he will need time to see that the necessary arrangements are made.”

Before Edric could reply, she pushed out of the tent and walked out into the snow. 

He simply smiled and rose to follow her.  

*

A flutter of nervous anticipation shot through Evelyn at Hawke’s words, going straight to her core. He was taking her into the forest, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the camp. They were going to be alone - completely alone. She found her excitement made it hard to keep silent as they walked through the trees; after a few minutes, she could barely hear the clamor of the camp, and after half an hour had passed, the only sounds were their footsteps and the quiet murmur of the forest around them. 

They stopped in a small clearing where above, a break in the trees allowing the light of the moons to shine down upon the tall, fragrant grass. Evelyn shivered - and not entirely because of the cold. 

“Where are we?” 

Hawke shrugged. “No idea!” he said cheerfully. 

“...you said that you wanted to show me something.”

“I do,” he replied, reaching into one of his pockets. A moment later, he procured a slightly crumpled letter. “Here.”

She took the letter, smoothing it out a bit before she began to read. She couldn’t help but smile at the jokingly mean tone of the words, the toothless insults thrown into every other sentence. “It’s from your brother,” she guessed, looking up to Hawke for confirmation. 

“What gave it away?” he asked. “The handwriting?”

She shook her head. “It was less that and more the part where he calls you a…” She paused, attempting to find the right line. “Ah, yes - a ‘butt-faced baboon’.” 

“Carver never was very clever with his insults.”

“Janky bastard?”

“Did he say that?” Hawke leaned over her shoulder, and she pointed at the phrase with a finger. “Huh. He did.” He shrugged the insult off. “I suppose it’s only fair. I insult him as much as he insults me. It’s my brotherly duty, you see.”

“My brothers never insulted me.”

“Of course not,” he replied. “You’re their  _ sister. _ It’s different. Brothers don’t insult their sisters. Well, I suppose when they’re five they do, but that’s different. You don’t insult your sister as an adult. Unless you really dislike your sister, I suppose.” He sighed, and shook his head. “But that isn’t the point. The point is that -”

“Your brother has never heard of a Warden named Blackwall in Ferelden,” Evelyn said, finishing the thought for him as she continued to read the letter. Her smile quickly turned to a grimace. “And they haven’t sent any recruiters into the Hinterlands since the Blight.” She quickly finished the letter and found herself unsure what to think of this newest revelation. She looked up. “Garrett… why did you ask your brother about Blackwall?”

He shook his head. “Something’s strange about him, Evelyn,” he said. “I sensed it as soon as I met him. And certain things about his story don’t add up. I was curious.” 

She nodded slowly. 

“I was curious, but not truly concerned,” he continued, “that is, until the King spoke to me, after I awoke from my injuries.”

“Alistair?”

Hawke nodded. 

“Alistair said something to you about Blackwall?”

“He’s not a Warden.”

Evelyn blinked. “What?” she asked, rather dumbly. 

“Alistair couldn’t sense the taint in him. Unless he was a brand new Warden, he should have been able to detect his presence.”

“But… he had those treaties, and Warden armor,” she pointed out, brows furrowing. “How could he have those if he isn’t a Warden?”

“I have no idea.”

She shook her head. “He’s been nothing but loyal to us so far,” she said. “Why would he help us if he wasn’t who he said he was?”

“Perhaps we should ask him.”

“I… “ She paused, considering Hawke’s suggestion. Her fear in confronting Blackwall was that the man would bolt, run away before they could discover whatever secret that he was hiding. She didn’t want that to happen. However he had managed to obtain them, the treaties Blackwall carried were legitimate. The Inquisition might need those in the future, should tensions escalate and the war intensify. Furthermore, Blackwall was a capable fighter, and a strong ally in a fight. She trusted him - it was one of the reasons she had brought him to Redcliffe in the first place. 

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t want to confront him,” she said. “Not until we find out what he’s lying about.”

“The King suggested much the same thing,” Hawke replied. 

“Then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll watch him, look out for suspicious behavior. But we’ll not say anything to him. He can’t know that we know he’s not a Warden.”

“Alright.”

She sighed then, realizing that her eager anticipation at being alone in the woods with Hawke had died, destroyed by the onset of yet more problems to handle. Was it always going to be this way? Would the resolution of one problem create five more? How could they possibly achieve anything? It would be a never-ending cycle. She suddenly felt exhausted, her shoulders physically slumping in response to her thoughts. 

“Evelyn? Are you alright?”

Hawke was staring down at her, concerned.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, shaking her head. She smiled, trying to look more convincing than she felt. “Really.” 

“You sort of… deflated there, for a moment.”

She snorted. She supposed that was a rather apt description of her emotions. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Just fatigue. It seems that very time we solve a problem, ten more pop up in its place. Sometimes I feel we’ll never be able to help anyone this way.” He nodded in commiseration, understanding her sudden defeat quite clearly; if anyone understood the enormity of duty, it was Hawke. “I suppose I just wasn’t expecting... this,” she said, gesticulating wildly with a hand. “When you told me that you had something to show me, that is. I certainly didn’t think you wanted to talk about our companions.”

“Oh?” He moved a little closer to her, peering down into her eyes. “What were you expecting?”

There was a palpable shift in the air; Evelyn’s fatigue was not displaced, but overshadowed by something warmer, something better. 

“I…” One of his hands reached down and snaked behind her back, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to settle against her bare skin. It was terribly distracting as she attempted to come up with an answer that didn’t sound idiotic. “Well. You know. We’re alone.”

“We are.”

“And you’re feeling better.”

“I am.”

“So I thought…”

His fingers were grazing along the column of her spine, raising goosebumps along her flesh. “Yes?” he prompted. 

“I thought you were thinking of something a little more -” She inhaled sharply when he dug in with his fingernails, just enough to leave fiery trails in their wake. 

“Mmmm?” 

It was hard to be articulate when he was touching her like that. 

“More… intimate?”

“What do you mean?” 

As he spoke, he shifted them closer so that their bodies were pressed together, enfolding her between his arms. Just like that, she was surrounded, enveloped in the warmth he gave off. “Stop that,” she said, scowling up at him. 

“Stop what?” he asked innocently, the corners of his lips tugging up into a smirk. 

“I can’t think when you touch me like that!”

“Then don’t.” 

He leaned down swiftly, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss that left her breathless. His other hand found its way inside her shirt, ghosting up the side of her ribs to the edges of her breasts. “Just tell me what you were expecting,” he murmured against her lips. She leaned forward to kiss him again, but he pulled back, just out of her reach. Slightly annoyed, she made a second attempt, but still he avoided her lips. 

“Quit that,” she snapped. 

“Or what?”

She grabbed the back of his head with both her hands and pulled, hard. This time, her attempt succeeded, and he didn’t pull away when her lips met his. 

“Or I’ll make you stop,” she panted. 

“Is that so?”

Before she could get a word in edgewise, Hawke lifted her off the ground, carrying her to a nearby tree as if she weighed nothing. Gently, but not too gently, he pressed her back against the trunk, keeping her in place with his legs as he bent forward to kiss her again. The motion made her head bang against the rough bark, but she was too intent upon what his mouth was doing to care. Her legs settled around his hips as his hands came up to frame her face, and a low noise of approval sounded deep in his throat. 

He drew away what could have been seconds or minutes later, roughly moving her hair aside so that he could get to the delicate skin of her neck. She gasped when he bit the sensitive spot just behind her ear, rocking up into him. That earned her a delighted moan; she could feel it vibrating through Hawke’s chest, so close were they. 

“I’ll stop,” he said quietly, moving to press a kiss to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “But only if you want me to.” One of his hands was inching closer to the buttons on her shirt, toying with the first as he waited for her response.

“Don’t stop,” she said. “Don’t you dare stop.”

For once in his life, Garrett Hawke chose not to dare. 

He tore through the buttons of her shirt, shoving the fabric aside. Evelyn had no time to adjust to the cool night air before his hands were on her small breasts, kneading and pinching just hard enough to tear a surprised moan from her lips. He silenced the sound with his mouth, sucking her lower lip between his teeth. She arched into him, wanting - no,  _ needing _ \- to feel more of him, and he eagerly complied, his fingers moving to circle a pert nipple. 

It felt better than she could ever have imagined, and she voiced her satisfaction with abandon, forgetting propriety in the solitude of the forest. With each stroke, each twist of his fingers, she pressed herself closer to him and twined her body around his. But it wasn’t enough - she still needed more. She needed the barriers between them gone. 

She raised trembling fingers to his shoulders, working through the various buckles and straps of his leather armor with surprising speed. The pieces fell to the ground unheeded, and soon her hands were on his skin. He was warm, almost hot, to the touch, and hard, his arms and chest corded with muscle. Her fingers drifted over his skin, light as feathers, delighting in the noises her ministrations received. 

His fingers slowed against her breasts, and he peered up at her through his mussed hair. “Now  _ I _ can’t think,” he murmured, tensing as her hands drifted lower across his abdomen. 

She couldn’t resist a smirk. “Turnabout’s fair play,” she reminded him.

With a sound she could only describe as a growl, he picked her up with one arm and lowered them both to the ground. The grass was cool against her back, and slightly springy, cushioning her body as he pressed himself down into her, kissing her again and again. He was decidedly less gentle now, one hand entwined in her hair and the other tight against her hip, pulling her towards him so that she could feel the hard length of him through his pants. 

Evelyn instinctively pressed up against him, and heat surged through her. She bucked her hips again, and this time, Hawke simultaneously pressed down. The pleasure rolled through her body like wildfire, the sensations so strong it was almost frightening. She had never felt like this before - not when she had slipped her hand between her thighs, late at night in the solace of her own room, nor with any other man. Hawke - no,  _ Garrett, _ she reminded herself - made her feel like she was soaring. 

She snaked a hand down between them, catching the hem of his trousers and searching for a button. It was an impossible quest in her heady, dazed state, and she whined in frustration. A second, much larger hand joined hers then, and within seconds the troublesome pants were gone. Now it was her turn. Hawke had no such difficulties removing the leggings from her, pulling them off with practiced efficiency before bringing their bodies together once more. 

With a deft hand, Hawke arranged himself so that his cock was between her legs, fitting tight against the warmth of her core. She sucked in a breath, holding it between her teeth as he rocked his hips forward teasingly, shuddering as he repeated the movement again and again. The heat was pooling, hot and dark, in the pit of her stomach at the continuous friction. She recognized it, welcomed it, but never had it been so intense. “Garrett,” she murmured, her voice sounding odd to her ears - it was too rough, too breathless, surely to be her own. 

Immediately, he paused, drawing back just enough to look at her face. “Is this too much?” he asked; his voice mirrored her own, deeper and huskier than normal. Another small shiver of pleasure wracked her body at the sound of it. 

Emboldened by her desire, she shook her head and reached a hand between them to grab his cock. He clenched his eyes shut, burying his face in her shoulder with a strangled sound. “Damn,” he groaned. “That feels even better than I imagined.”

“You’ve imagined this?”

“More times than I can count,” he admitted. He hissed as she squeezed him, his body going rigid against hers. 

“Have you imagined  _ this _ ?” she asked, blushing despite herself as she moved the tip of him to settle against her sex. 

Hawke shuddered violently. “Yes.”

“Me too,” she admitted. 

She felt his cock twitch in her hand in response.

“Evelyn, can I-”

“Yes.”

Her hand fell to the side as he slid into her with a ragged moan, moving his fingers from her hair to her neck so he could kiss her. She tensed at the sudden fullness, the slight twinge of pain. Instantly, he stopped moving, allowing her the time to adjust while he continued to kiss her, stroking the side of her face as he did. 

The pain quickly left, and she rocked her hips towards him experimentally. A spike of heat lanced through her as a reward, and the time time she moved, he moved with her. Their pace quickly grew frantic, and Evelyn found she couldn’t keep up. She simply clung to her lover, gripping his shoulders hard as they raced towards completion, the heat in her belly beginning to overflow. 

Suddenly, Hawke leaned forward, changing his angle so that his cock brushed against her  _ just  _ so. It was too much, her senses overloaded, and she cried out as she came hard against him. Dazed, she was barely cognizant as she felt him continue to thrust into her erratically for a few more moments and then finish himself. 

He caught himself just before he fell atop her, instead gingerly lowering onto his forearms and then settling against her, resting most of his weight on the ground. Evelyn curled up against him, her body quickly cooling off in the night air. She didn’t speak, a peaceful feeling settling over her as she came down from the high she’d just experienced. It was a sense of… completeness, she supposed was the correct word, a sense of belonging that hadn’t been between them before. Accompanied with that was an ebullient joy that threatened to burst out of her chest, and she smiled against Hawke’s neck.

He drew back, peering down at her quizzically. “So you’ve been thinking about me, hmm?” he asked.

She blinked, struggling to recall what he was talking about. When she remembered her admission mere minutes before, she blushed, though her smile never wavered. “Perhaps,” she said. 

“How long have you been hiding that?” 

“Far longer than I should have,” she confessed, knowing the indefinite answer would drive him crazy.

He scowled, and she laughed in satisfaction. “That’s maddeningly vague.”

“Does it frustrate you?” she asked innocently. 

He moved a hand along her ribs, fingers scrabbling at the spots he’d long since discovered were ticklish. She yelped in surprise, laughter pouring from her throat as he continued his merciless onslaught.

She waved him away when she began to gasp for breath. “Stop that!”

“Tell me,” he whined, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout.

“Well, if you really must know…”

“I must, I must!”

“I first… dreamed of you before I even really knew you,” she said quietly. “It was when we were traveling to Haven together. I was so embarrassed - I was sure that you’d heard me in the night. In the morning, you even told me that we needed to talk. I was sure that you were going to confront me about it. But you just wanted to spar.” 

His brow furrowed. “Wait…” He pondered this revelation for a moment, and then recognition shone upon his face. “Sweet Maker, that long ago?” He chuckled. 

“You’re an attractive man, Garrett,” Evelyn snapped, a touch defensively. “It was a natural reaction!”

“No, no, not that,” he said quickly, grinning. “It’s just… well, I might’ve… happened to overhear said dream.”

The smile slipped from her face. “What?” she asked, mortified.

“It was shortly after you’d fallen asleep,” he explained. “I got to thinking about things, and wasn’t having much success at sleeping myself, and you started making these… noises.” 

“Oh.” One of her hands rose to cover her face, her cheeks now hot for an entirely different reason. “Oh no.”

“I thought you might be having a nightmare, so I went to wake you, but then you started moaning, and I realized it wasn’t a bad dream at all.”

“You don’t know that,” she said hotly. “You could’ve been terrible!”

“Was I?” 

“...no.”

He grinned. “You had a crush on me!” 

She scowled up at him. “You were attracted to me too!” she said. “Don’t even pretend you weren’t!”

“Oh, I was,” he said quickly. “I still am. Very much so.” 

Her anger faded at the warmth and affection she saw in his eyes, but she still huffed and turned away from him. “I shouldn’t have told you that,” she muttered. 

He curled his body around hers, resting his head on her shoulder so that he could press a kiss against her cheek. “You’re adorable,” he said. “Do you know that?” She delivered a sharp kick to his shin, and he yelped in surprise. “Hey!”

“You’re ruining the moment.”

“Moment?”

“Just be quiet and hold me.”

He snuggled in close to her again, wrapping an arm tight around her waist. “I’ll hold you until I can’t feel my arms anymore,” he murmured.

She smiled. “Good.”

“...but I make no promises about keeping quiet.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I had a lot of fun with this chapter... for obvious reasons ;) 
> 
> Any feedback is much appreciated!
> 
> And, of course, a big thanks to my pal bushviper for beta-ing this so quickly <3


	23. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn returns to Haven, where she confronts Edric and meets the newcomers to the Inquisition.

Evelyn awoke early the next morning, just as the first light of dawn was beginning to brighten the tent. She hummed in contentment, relishing the warm cage of Hawke’s arms around her torso and his legs entangled with hers. Had she been able to, she would have willingly stayed in bed with him all day, talking, laughing, dozing… among other things. Her cheeks warmed at the thought, and she rolled over onto her back; there was a slight twinge of soreness at the movement, a reminder of the previous night’s activities.

She smiled to herself as she rose to her feet, beginning the process of cleaning and dressing. After their first encounter in the forest, Hawke had made love to her again. He was much gentler the second go around, taking his time with every caress, each thrust of his hips. It had driven her mad with desire, and he’d enjoyed every second of it. They’d returned to the camp after that, and gotten a bite to eat before retiring to their tent. Then it had been her turn to drive _him_ mad, echoing his slow, languorous caresses and movements with her hands and mouth.

She did not think that she would ever tire of it.

She stepped out into the cool morning air quietly so as not to wake her lover. The chill sent a shiver down her spine, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she set off for the nearest campfire at a brisk pace.

Dorian and Blackwall were also awake, dishes of something warm and sweet smelling in their hands. She smiled as Dorian offered her a bowl, settling down across from him with a word of thanks. “What is this?” she asked. “It smells much better than the porridge we’ve been eating.”

“I took the liberty of searching the foodstuffs the King and Queen gave us,” Dorian replied. “ _Someone_ has been hiding the bag of brown sugar from the rest of us.” He arched an eyebrow at the tent he was sharing with Varric.

Evelyn raised a spoonful of the dish to her lips; the sweetness of the sugar burst upon her tongue, and she smiled in delight. “This is wonderful,” she said, taking another mouthful.

“Isn’t it?”

Blackwall stood then, and Evelyn tensed unexpectedly. Dorian frowned at her reaction, flicking a curious eye over to the other man. “The horses need seeing to,” he said gruffly, buckling his sword on around his waist. He nodded to Dorian and then turned to Evelyn. “Will we be setting off soon?”

“In a half hour or so,” she said quietly, willing her voice to sound normal. Blackwall nodded and walked away, heading towards the horses.

“That was… unusual.”

Evelyn turned to Dorian, mind working hard to come up with a suitable excuse for her reaction.

She failed.

“Was it?”

Dorian gave her a flat look. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on with our Warden friend,” he drawled, “but I know there’s something there.”

She remained silent, pointedly looking down at the bowl of porridge as she continued to eat.

The other mage huffed, vexed. “Well, if you’re going to be tight-lipped about it, we can discuss other things. Such as what you were doing last night in the woods with Hawke.”

Evelyn choked on her food.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you,” Dorian said, smirking.

She finally regained her breath, and shot a glare at the man. “What, are you going to tell on me?” she demanded.

“Of course not!” Dorian replied, raising his hands as if to proclaim his innocence. “I was merely remarking upon this sudden change in the state of affairs.” He paused then, the smirk on his face fading into a look of slight concern. “Was he good to you?”

Evelyn blinked, caught unawares by the question. “He’s always good to me.”

The mage nodded. “Ah,” he said, a note of relief in his voice. “I’m glad to hear it.” He flashed a grin at her. “Had he caused you any sort of pain, I would have had to challenge him to a fight, of course. And while I am quite sure of my own abilities, I don’t think I fancy testing them against your Champion.” He sighed. “It would be a terrible loss of a very handsome mage.”

She was touched by the sincerity in her friend’s words, at his thought to make sure that she was being treated well. The bond between the two of them had strengthened over the past few weeks, and it had become easy to think of him as a close companion, but to hear his concern meant a great deal to her. Her brothers were the ones who had looked after her before, but Ewan was gone and Edric was far too busy for such things.

“I… thank you, Dorian.”

“Whatever for?”

“For thinking to ask,” she clarified. She flushed a little under his gaze, but pushed on. “It means a lot to me.”

Dorian smiled. “Well, I trust that you will do the same, should I find myself in the arms of a similarly dashing specimen of a man,” he replied. “Have we a deal?”

“Deal.”

Evelyn resumed eating her porridge, intent upon finishing it before it cooled.

“I assume then, that you are taking the proper contraceptive precautions?”

She choked again.

When she had regained control of herself again, she glared up at her friend. “Are you _trying_ to kill me?” she wheezed. She barely suppressed a cough and then muttered, “The least you could do is wait until I’ve _swallowed._ ”

Dorian didn’t look even the slightest bit repentant. Nor did he offer any sort of apology. “Well?” he demanded instead. “Are you?”

“Yes,” she muttered, flushing scarlet. “We have that taken care of that.”

He nodded approvingly. “Smart,” he said. “Now is hardly the time for you to have little Hawklets running about!”

_Hawklets?_

Unbidden, an image of a small brood of children with shaggy brown hair and big green eyes came to her mind. Hawke was with them, children crawling all over him and running in circles at his feet; he was playing with them much as a bear might play with its cubs. It made her strangely wistful, and so she forced it away, unsure of what to make of it. Dorian was right; there was no time for her to be thinking about children or a family. And it was much too soon, anyways.

Much too soon.

“Evelyn? Did you hear me?”

She blinked at Dorian, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. “Sorry,” she said quickly, “No.”

The other mage smirked knowingly at her, but said nothing. “I asked if you had any notion of what is going to happen when we return to Haven,” he said.

“Seal the Breach,” she replied automatically.

“Yes?” he prompted. “And then?”

“I… don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t thought that far in advance.”

“Ah. Well, perhaps your spymaster will have something new for us to do when we return. Or perhaps the Chantry will have declared an Exalted March on us!”

She shot him a dark look. “You shouldn’t joke about that,” she said. “It’s not impossible.”

“But highly unlikely,” Dorian said. “All they’ve done so far is call you names and lose the support of the Templars. They’re doing a very bang-up job of a smear campaign, really. It’s almost laughable."

“We’ll have to deal with them eventually,” Evelyn acknowledged. She paused. “Maybe we’ll have to go to Orlais and deal with them personally.”

“Have you been to Orlais?”

“Up until a few months ago, I had never gone beyond the boundaries of Ostwick,” Evelyn admitted.

“Really?” Dorian asked, incredulous.

“My family wasn’t wealthy,” she replied a tad defensively. “We couldn’t afford to travel unless it was for my father’s sales.”

“But you had horses, yes? And you never explored the countryside?”

She shook her head. “It was too dangerous,” she explained.

“Too danger… ah. I see.” He shot her a sympathetic look. “Because you were a mage.”

She nodded.

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “We shall simply have to remedy that, won’t we? Once this is all over, of course. You and I will visit the Free Marches, and together we will see their great halls and fortresses, their monuments and their finest drinking establishments. Why, I could even show you the Imperium, if you’d like! It’s not nearly as scary as these southerners like to pretend it is. What do you say, cousin?”

Evelyn couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “I’d love to,” she replied. “Once the war’s been settled and the Breach is sealed.” _If we_ ever _manage it,_ she added to herself.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

She laughed. “There’s no need for threats, Dorian, I said I’d come willingly.”

“I’m just warning you that I don’t take lightly to cancelled travel plans,” he allowed.

“Duly noted.”

*

“Ser.”

Edric looked up at the messenger’s voice. “Yes?”

“Your sister has returned from Redcliffe.”

Edric paused, allowing himself a moment to absorb the news. He needed to remain calm in this situation; he could not allow his emotions to get the better of him.

“Very good,” he said after a moment, pushing himself out of his chair. “Where is she?”

“Helping the mages settle into their new camp, at the moment. The Champion is with her.”

_Of course he is._

“And how are they settling in?” Edric asked, motioning for the man to walk with him as he started for the path to the lakeshore. “Has there been any trouble so far? Any confrontations with the Templars?”

“Not that I know of, Ser,” the messenger replied. “But they have only just arrived. Surely they wouldn’t get into trouble so soon.”

Having had years of experience with both mages and Templars, Edric wasn’t so sure. “How many are there, would you say?”

“Hundreds. Most are adults, but there are also children and teenagers amongst them. Apprentices in the Circles, I would think.”

Edric nodded. They would have to make sure that the mages kept a close watch on the novices. They were untested against demons, having yet to go through their Harrowing, and would be the most likely to fall prey to the temptations of the Fade. Were an abomination to get loose in the camp... he refused to entertain that train of thought any further. No, it would not happen. He would see to that.

He bid the messenger farewell as he walked through the city gates and paused just outside the wooden palisades, taking in the view. Off in the distance, surrounding the eastern side of the lake, the mages were beginning to set up camp. They were moving quickly and efficiently to erect their tents and arrange their campfires. Across the water, the Templars were observing their movements with a calm detachment. Edric was proud to see that none of them appeared openly hostile, no weapons in sight.

He looked back to the side of the lake where the mages were and spotted a lone figure walking towards him. He squinted, attempting to better his sight, but it was several long minutes before the person drew near enough for him to recognize them.

Evelyn.

She looked guarded, wary even, but there was no hint of timidity in her movements. She strode forward with purpose, her chin held high even as her eyes roved over his face in an attempt to gauge his thoughts. In that moment, he found himself feeling proud of her, admiring her confidence despite what might happen between them. She did not fear him or his anger. She was willing to accept the consequences of her actions.

She stopped a few steps away from him, feet set wide in a defensive stance. He met her gaze calmly, waiting for her to speak first.

“I won’t apologize for what I did,” she said. Her voice was rushed, as if she felt that she needed to speak her thoughts quickly before she lost her courage. “It was the right thing to do.”

Edric nodded.

“The mages have many children with them, as well as several elders,” Evelyn continued, glancing back in the direction of the camp. “I couldn’t allow them to become slaves. I doubt they would have been treated kindly.”

He nodded again.

“They have elected a new leader, and I have spoken with him several times. He is interested in working together with the Inquisition, not with causing more problems for the mages. The strongest among them will help Hawke, Dorian, Solas, and I to close the Breach. After that…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m still working on that.”

His mouth quirked at her candor.

Her brows snapped down into a scowl as she crossed her arms over her chest and threw out a foot impatiently. “Are you going to say anything?” she demanded. “Or are you just going to stare me-ooof!”

The bone-crushing hug Edric wrapped his sister in cut off the rest of her sentence. She made an indignant noise of protest, pounding on his back with her tiny fists in an attempt to get him to release her. But he held fast, and eventually she gave in to the gesture with a defeated sigh. A second later, she wrapped her own arms around him.

When he released her, Edric was smiling. Evelyn was still eyeing him warily, unsure of what to make of his reaction. “You aren’t angry?” she asked quietly. “I was… I was so sure you’d be angry with me.”

“Oh, I was,” he agreed, finally joining the conversation. “I still am. But not with your wanting to aid the mages, Evelyn. You have done what you believed to be right, and saved many lives in the process. How could I be angry with you for that?”

“But I went against you-”

“So have many others,” Edric interjected. “I cannot be angry with someone for following their heart.”

She frowned. “Then I don’t understand,” she said. “If you aren’t mad that I went behind your back to Redcliffe, then why _are_ you angry?”

Edric blinked. Was it not obvious? “You went without me,” he said simply. “You took four people - strong, capable people to be sure, but merely _four_ \- and set out to rescue a large group of potentially hostile mages from a Tevinter magister and all of his retainers.” He drew a deep breath, steadying himself. “I couldn’t help you. I wasn’t there to protect your back.”

“Edric, I don’t need-”

“I know,” he said, nodding. “I know you don’t need my protection. We’ve passed the stage where you needed me to shield you from the world. We’ve changed, you and I. Mostly for the better, I think. I am very proud of the person you have become, Evelyn, and I am sure Mother and Father would be as well. But you must also know that, as your brother, I will _always_ want to protect you.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes and looked away, but Edric could tell that she was only pretending to be embarrassed. “I do know that,” she admitted. She looked back up at him and paused, biting her lower lip. “But you do realize that things will only get more dangerous from here on out, right?”

Edric nodded. It was the only logical conclusion, giving the enormity of the circumstances they faced. Things would get worse before they could get better. But it was the promise of better that kept him moving, that kept all of them moving. They had to believe that things would turn out alright in the end. If they stopped believing in that, they might as well give up now.

“They will,” he agreed. “But between the two of us, I think we’ll manage alright.”

She nodded. “There must _be_ a two of us, though,” she replied. “We can’t argue like this over every little decision.”

“No,” he said, “no, we cannot.” He took a deep breath before he continued. “Which is why I must apologize for the way that I handled the situation with the Templars. I know now that I had already decided to help my brothers- and sisters-at-arms before I’d heard of the mages’ plight. At that point, I was so enraged by what the Lord Seeker had done to them that I don’t think anyone could have persuaded me to do otherwise.”

“Then I must apologize for running off without  letting anyone know  what I was doing,” Evelyn said. “Except Leliana, of course.”

Edric chuckled wryly. “Yes, Leliana,” he said. “I’m not sure I’ve forgiven her yet.”

“Oh, you will,” Evelyn said. “You know you will.”

“Yes. Probably.” He paused. “We must present a united front to the enemy. If they sense that there are fractures in our command structure, they will attempt to exploit that.”

“We’ll stand together. And others will help.”

“Yes…” He knew she meant Hawke, and the thought irritated him to no end. “Others.” He changed the subject then, willing his irritation away. “You say that you wish to use the mages’ power to seal the Breach? You are in need of their most powerful magic users?”

Evelyn nodded. “I’ll need as much strength as they can give me,” she replied.

“I think I can help you with that.”

“Oh?”

“Come with me,” he said, offering her his arm as he had when they were children, playing at king and queen in their mother’s garden. She snorted at the gesture, but laid her hand along his steel vambrace just the same.

“I believe I know a mage who could help.”

*

Evelyn was unsure what to make of the Madame de Fer.

When Edric had escorted her to a tent, set apart from others by both its color scheme and the quality of its fabric, she had not known what to expect. Was the owner nobility, or perhaps royalty? Only someone of means could have afforded the shimmering silver fabric, of that she was sure. But then what mage was wealthy? Didn’t they all live in Circles, cloistered away from the world? Perhaps this mage had a rich patron instead, or had come from a wealthy family before discovering their innate magical talent.

She hadn’t been sure which theory she thought most likely when she’d entered the tent. A woman had been standing with her back to the entrance, bent low over a table as she made notes on a piece of parchment. Dressed entirely in white and silver fabric, with an ornate hennin adorning her head, Evelyn could immediately sense the woman’s regal presence even without seeing her face. She turned around a moment later, hesitating only a moment before smiling graciously at the two of them.

The smile didn’t reach her dark, calculating eyes.

“Hello, my dear.” The woman’s voice was mellifluous, rich and full. Her eyes flicked to Edric, and she lifted an eyebrow questioningly. “Who is this, Edric?”

“Madame de Fer,” Edric said, “might I present my sister, Evelyn?”

“The mage some are calling the Herald of Andraste?” Those watchful eyes focused intently upon Evelyn. “It is well that we are finally met,” she said. “I am Vivienne, previously the First Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Evelyn replied, unsure of what else to say.

“Your brother tells me that you bear a mark of strange significance,” Vivienne continued. “He says that you can close these rifts into the Fade.”

Evelyn nodded, holding out her hand with the palm facing up so that the other woman could see the green light spilling forth. The mage took a step forward before she could catch herself, lifting a hand as if to touch the mark. But propriety stopped her a moment later. “Might I examine it?”

“Of course.”

She doubted that Vivienne would find anything more than Solas had already discovered, but she had no qualms about allowing others to inspect the strange magic. The mage studied her palm carefully, running long, elegant fingers over her skin quite gently, as if she was afraid of hurting Evelyn.

“How strange,” Vivienne murmured. “I am not familiar with this sort of magic.”

“Solas says that it is old magic,” Edric replied, “perhaps even elven.”

“I would be inclined to agree.”

“It doesn’t matter where it came from, if it can seal the Breach,” Evelyn interjected, withdrawing her hand.

Vivienne chuckled. “Careful, my dear,” she said. “Strange magic has been the downfall of many a man, in my experience. You might live to regret those words. But you are correct about one thing - the Breach must be sealed. Have you an idea as to how to do that?”

“Solas believes that if enough mages gather around the Breach, I can draw on their power to seal it myself,” Evelyn replied.

“You would act as a focus,” Vivienne said, nodding. “Yes, I have heard of the practice before. It would work, I think, but it could potentially be very painful. Drawing upon that much magic can be dangerous to the body.”

“I can handle it.”

“There is potentially another way,” Edric said then, taking a step forward as if to physically interject him into the conversation. “As I have mentioned before, I believe the Templars could suppress the magic of the Breach enough that Evelyn alone could seal it. No other mages would be necessary.”

“Hmmm.” Vivienne put a finger to her lips, considering this. “Yes, that could work as well. But that depends upon how strong a mage your sister is, and how much she would be affected by the magic dampening the Templars throw at the Breach.”

Evelyn wasn’t sure whether or not she should feel insulted. Nothing the other mage had said had been a direct gibe, but something in the woman’s tone made her feel as though she should feel slighted. She opened her mouth to give a retort, but Edric beat her to it.

“Evelyn can handle it. Of that I am sure.”

Vivienne nodded in acquiescence. “I trust your judgment,” she murmured. Her eyes returned to Evelyn. “Then you are here to ask me if I will serve as one of the mages helping you seal the Breach?”

Evelyn looked briefly at Edric before nodding. “If you would,” she said. “My brother says you are a skilled mage.”

Vivienne considered them for a moment. “If I may… there is perhaps a third solution to the problem of the Breach that would not put you in a such a tenuous position.”

Edric shifted on his feet. “What are you suggesting?” he asked.

“You have secured an alliance with the Templars,” Vivienne pointed out. She turned to Evelyn. “And you have given the rebel mages an alliance with the Inquisition as well.” Her tone was cool and disapproving, but she made no personal judgment on the matter. “I suggest that these two resources work together. If the Templars can suppress the Breach, it would take only a few mages to augment your own abilities enough to seal the rift.”

“Templars and mages working together,” Edric mused.

“Take only those mages that you trust,” Vivienne continued. “Those you know are strong enough to handle the task. Your brother may lead the Templars; he knows them well enough by now to judge who would be best suited to the endeavor.”

Evelyn frowned. “Why should I only take those I trust?” she asked.

“Take those whom you may rely upon,” Vivienne clarified. “You would not want a mage whose magic you are using to panic in the face of the Templar presence.”

Edric nodded. “Panicked mages can become very unpredictable,” he said. “And panicked Templars as well. It would be better for the everyone in this camp if we only took men and women of discipline with us to the Breach.”

“Have you a few trustworthy companions?”

Evelyn nodded. “Hawke and Dorian, for certain,” she replied. “Solas as well. I have spoken to a few among the other mages; I think I know who is dependable at this point.”

“Very good,” Edric said. “I’ll speak with Barris about the Templars then. Would you want to come with me?” he asked, turning to Evelyn. “You should meet him as well. He’s the leader of the remaining Templars that we met at Therinfal Redoubt.”

“Ah-hem.”

Both Edric and Evelyn turned to Vivienne, who was smiling at the both of them.

“Might I speak with your sister alone for a moment?” she asked.

Edric frowned, turning to Evelyn in silent question. She hesitated a moment; what did Vivienne want to discuss that couldn’t be said in Edric’s presence? Still, she thought it best to hear what the woman had to say. She nodded to her brother, and he returned the gesture.  “Find me when you are finished,” he said. He gave Evelyn’s arm a brief squeeze before departing.

Silence fell over the tent. Evelyn fidgeted uncomfortably, waiting for the other woman to initiate whatever conversation that she wished to have. For her part, Vivienne seemed entirely at ease, moving around her table to seat herself on a cushioned stool. She arranged her skirts around her elegantly, her posture impeccable as she folded her hands into her lap.

“Have a seat, dear,” she said, motioning to an identical stool along the opposite wall.

Evelyn obeyed, grateful for something to do with her hands. “So,” she began, glancing up at Vivienne. “You’re from Orlais?”

“Of late,” Vivienne replied. “I was born in Wycome, and spent my formative years in the Circle at Ostwick.” Evelyn blinked in surprise, and Vivienne smiled knowingly. “Yes. For many years, I lived not very far from your old home. But I showed promise, and at the age of nineteen, I transferred to the Montsimmard Circle. More recently, I have served as the court enchanter to the Empress.”

“Court… enchanter?” Evelyn repeated. What would such a position entail? Was it some sort of advisory post? But mages in Orlais were kept in Circles, feared and mistrusted.

“The title was mainly a formality,” Vivienne acknowledged, “with rank little higher than that of court jester, I’m afraid. But Celene has always been surprisingly interested in magic, and she is not the type of woman to place a person in a position of power if they cannot benefit her in some way. My connections with the Orlesian court are strong, and in me, she saw an opportunity. I like to think that I have taken a title that was largely laughable and turned into a very profitable one.”

“But how does that work, exactly?” Evelyn asked, frowning. “Did you advise her from a Circle?”

“No. I was ever at the Empress’ beck and call. Where she wished me to be, I was.”

“I don’t understand. I thought mages weren’t allowed to leave Circles.”

Vivienne studied her for a moment. “Your brother has told me a little of your situation,” she admitted. “You were not trained in a Circle, nor did your parents ever think of sending you to one. Your mother in particular was against it. She was raised by the Rivaini, who do not see magic in the same light as the people of southern Thedas do.”

Evelyn nodded.

“I cannot expect you to understand what life in the Circles is like,” the other mage continued. “But I am sure that you have heard many things, mostly unpleasant I fear.” Evelyn nodded. “You must know that there is both truth and hyperbole in such judgments. Some Circles are terrible places where the Templars abuse their privileges and treat mages as they would feral animals. Kirkwall was an example of one such place. I am sure your friend Hawke has told you much.”

He hadn’t, actually. She had not wanted to ask. Whenever he mentioned the situation with the Chantry and the Templars in Kirkwall, a haunted look crept into Hawke’s eyes, and his voice became hollow and strained. It was obvious that it pained him to speak of it, and so she had not pried. Varric was a little more forthcoming about their tales from the City of Chains, but even he spoke of the explosion and the outbreak of the war in quiet, reluctant tones.   

“But not all Circles are that way, my dear. Some of them are wonderful places of learning, and within the safety of their walls, we can properly train the children who come to us. Magic is a wondrous ability, but it is also a most terrible power. It is like fire, I think. Beautiful, dangerous… and capable of utter annihilation, if left unchecked.”

“And yet you don’t live in a Circle,” Evelyn pointed out, bringing the conversation back to her original question.

“I did once,” Vivienne murmured. “I was… happy there. I had been appointed as the First Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle, at an age most thought completely inappropriate. It was quite scandalous, really. But all of that changed with the rebellion. Some Circles attempted to remain intact even in the face of overwhelming pressure to disband, but we could not hold back the tide of resentment that many felt.”

“It was perfectly legitimate,” Evelyn interjected. Vivienne paused, and Evelyn got the distinct impression that the other woman disapproved of her remark. Still, she pressed on, unwilling to back down. “From what I hear, at least. Many of the Templars were corrupt and committed terrible atrocities.”

“Indeed.” Vivienne nodded gravely. “Some Templars have abused their station and their power. But a good many have not. Is it fair to treat them all as criminals?”

“Well, no,” Evelyn allowed. “But changes have to be made.”

“Precisely, my dear. Changes must be made - and they must be made through the proper channels, and with the support of the people. Some among the mages would throw away everything that we have achieved in centuries past for a few moments of ruinous revenge.”

Evelyn wasn’t sure that she agreed.

Towards the end of the journey to Haven, several of the mages approached her, willing to begin conversations about their experiences in the Circles. Some had spoken of peaceful years spent studying magical theories both arcane and mundane, but many had spoken of mistreatment and years spent in terror. Some had spoken out against the misdeeds - and paid the price for their outspokenness with solitary confinement, beatings, or worse, the Rite of Tranquility.

She didn’t think change could afford to come slowly, especially when the public was so fearful of magic to begin with. Vivienne’s ideas for the future seemed too much like returning to the way things had been. After the disastrous events at the Conclave, Evelyn wasn’t sure that the old order could be re-established without further years of strife.

“I have made you uncomfortable.”

Evelyn blinked, the other woman’s voice drawing her from her thoughts. “No,” she said slowly, “it’s not that.”

“You are very quiet, then, for one who is at ease.”

“It’s… just complicated,” Evelyn admitted. “I never expected to be in the middle like this.”

“And yet you are,” Vivienne replied, nodding. “I fear you will ever be at the center of events, my dear. The mark you bear suggests that you will play a large role in the ending of this war.”

Evelyn snorted. “I just came south to find my brother,” she muttered. “I certainly got more than I bargained for.”

“For good or ill,” Vivienne agreed. She cleared her throat, signaling a clear change of subject. “It is indeed a complicated matter. There are no easy answers to questions such as those we now face. But should you need advice, I am more than happy to offer my opinion. As for the moment, I believe our most pressing concern is the Breach. And, I believe that I can help you with that.”

“You’ll help me seal it?”

Vivienne smiled.

“It would be my honor.”

*

It was late that night before Evelyn finally managed to slip away from her duties. She was already physically tired from the long road back from Redcliffe, and a day of meetings and reports had mentally fatigued her as well. Leliana had been the one to notice, of course; she’d politely suggested that they call it a day after she’d caught Evelyn’s third badly concealed yawn. Evelyn would have to remember to thank her tomorrow.

For now, though, all that she wanted to do was sleep.

She kept to the shadows as she made her way to the small cabin she had been given upon her arrival to Haven, lest someone else find her and attempt to gain her attention. The windows were dark and shuttered, but a small trail of smoke was wafting from the chimney. Hope sprung up in her chest; perhaps her brother had had someone prepare it for her in anticipation of her arrival.

She slipped the door open softly, relishing the warm air of the interior as it crossed her face. She sighed in contentment, moving quickly to lock herself inside, away from the cares of the camp.

“There you are!”

Evelyn started with a cry, whirling around until her eyes settled on Hawke, lazing on the bed in naught but his trousers. She scowled at the amused glint in his eyes, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

“Dammit, Hawke,” she muttered. “You frightened me!”

“Sorry,” he said, sitting up. “That was not my intent.”  

She walked over to him, joining him on the bed as she began to unlace her boots and peel off her outer layers of clothing.

“You look tired,” he murmured, placing a warm hand on the small of her back.

“I am tired,” she agreed. “Edric must have introduced me to half the camp, and then Leliana and Josephine wanted to know every little detail about Redcliffe, half of which I hardly think matter. Do you know she asked how the queen’s dress fit her?” She snorted. “Why she wants to know that, I’ll never guess.”

“Maybe she thinks Anora is pregnant,” Hawke said thoughtfully.

Evelyn looked at him sharply.

“It’s just a thought,” he said quickly. “It’s been ten years since Alistair married her. I know Grey Wardens tend to shoot unfletched arrows, if you catch my meaning, but they’ve likely been hard-pressed for an heir.”

“Grey Wardens can’t have children?”

“It’s unlikely,” he replied. “From what Carver has told me, the Taint sharply reduces the ability of women to conceive a child and men to father one.”

She shot Hawke a wry grin. “And Carver knows this from first-hand experience, does he?”

Hawke shuddered. “I try my hardest not to think about Carver’s sex life.”

Evelyn laughed. “Well, if he looks anything like you, I'm sure he has women fawning all over him," she replied. She wondered absently if she would ever get to meet the other Hawke. "Does he? Look like you, I mean.”

“Carver?” Hawke blinked. “He’s taller than me, and more muscular, if you can believe it. But Carver looks more like Father, where Bethany and I resembled our mother. We share a hair color, but that’s where the similarities end.”

“Is he taller than Edric?”

“No. I don’t think anyone is taller than Edric. Giants, perhaps.”

“He’s not as tall as the Qunari.”

“Don’t sell him short. I think he’d blend right in, up in Par Vollen. Well, minus the horns.”

“There’s a Qunari in camp now,” Evelyn said thoughtfully. “Did you know that?”

“Is there?” Hawke asked uncertainly. “I… hadn’t heard.”

“His name is Iron Bull. Apparently he’s the leader of a mercenary band known as the Chargers. My brother recruited them while we were in the Hinterlands, but I didn’t have the chance to meet them before they left for  Therinfal Redoubt.”

He chuckled, and Evelyn shot him a quizzical glance. “My, my, your brother has been busy, hasn’t he?”

“What do you mean?”

“Securing alliances with a Qunari mercenary, incorporating hundreds of Templars into the Inquisition, beginning a new romance… he’s certainly had his hands full!”

“ _What_?”

Hawke blinked, her startled expression making him sit up.

“Beginning a new romance?” Evelyn demanded. “What does that mean?”

“...you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“The rumors about him and the Seeker.”

Evelyn felt as though she had been physically hit. Her brother and Cassandra. Together. And he hadn’t told her? The thought made her angry, as well as a bit hurt. She had been in his company all day, and he hadn’t thought to pull her aside and tell her that, _by the way,_ he was involved with someone now? And that that someone was _Cassandra_?

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Hawke said quietly. “I thought that you knew.”

“You’re right,” she huffed irritably. “You shouldn’t have had to tell me. _He_ should have.”

“Not to take his side,” he said slowly, “but… did you ever tell him about us?”

Evelyn scowled, a quick retort on her lips, but it died when she realized that he was right. It wasn’t as if she’d ever told her brother the depth of her relationship with Hawke. Edric had likely guessed, of course; he wasn’t stupid, nor was he blind. But he scarcely knew any details about their bond.

“I hardly want to discuss that with my brother,” she said finally.

“Perhaps he feels the same about Cassandra.”

“But I should still know!” she protested. “Shouldn’t I?”

He shrugged. “It depends upon how close you are with him, I guess,” he said. “I’ve never discussed any of my past dalliances with Carver. Nor any of my past relationships. It wasn’t ever something we talked about, really. Of course, that was mostly because Carver is several years younger than me, and he responded to talk of me kissing someone with expressions of disgust. That kind of reaction generally dampens the sharing mood.”

“It wasn’t like that with us. Whenever I mentioned a boy, Edric and Ewan were always quick to question me about him.”

Hawke nodded. “They wanted to protect you,” he said. “I was much the same with Bethany.”

“You were?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Bethany was very pretty. She looked like me, you know.” He flashed her a cheeky grin, and Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Starting from when she was very young, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, she had boys calling on her. Most of them were harmless, but I wasn’t about to let one of them hurt her.”

“And was she equally interested in your love interests?”

“She was more interested than Carver, but that’s not saying very much.”

That hadn’t been the answer she was looking for. “You know what I meant,” she said.

“I don’t really think you should compare Bethany and I to you and Edric,” he replied quietly. “Especially considering that Bethany never had the chance to be in a real relationship with someone before she died.”

Evelyn suddenly felt guilty for asking, the distant look in Hawke’s eyes letting her know that this wasn’t a topic of conversation he was particularly comfortable with. “You’re right,” she murmured, backing off. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up your sister.”

Hawke blinked, and then laughed. She was caught off guard by his reaction, frowning. “Oh, Evelyn,” he said, shaking his head. He reached out and dragged her down so that she was lying next to him, propping himself up on an elbow so that he could peer down into her face. “You don’t have to worry about asking me about my family. If there’s something I don’t want to say, I’ll say so.”

“How did you know-?”

“You are easier to read than the plot of one of Varric’s books,” he interjected.

She scowled. “I am not!”

“Are too,” he retorted.

“Then what am I thinking right now?” she demanded.

He stared at her for a moment. “You are annoyed with your brother for not telling you about Cassandra,” he said quietly. “You’re irritated, and a little hurt - but not truly angry. You’ll find a way to tease him about it later. You feel guilty for making me reminisce about my sister, which you shouldn’t. And,” he added, lowering his voice a bit, “You think I am incredibly attractive and very much want me to kiss you.”

He didn’t wait for her to tell him if he was right or wrong, leaning down to press his lips against hers hungrily. Despite her fatigue, her body curled into his willingly, her hands seeking out the warm skin of his chest to pull him closer. Her breath hitched as one of his hands drifted down to her midriff, fingers splaying across her belly. Already, she could feel the heat pooling in her core.

“Was I right?” he asked.

“I’m not telling,” she replied, pulling him back down and kissing him with enough force to drive all thoughts of being correct from his mind.

Perhaps she wasn’t so tired after all.     
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a bit of delay in getting this chapter out! It's still more of a transition chapter, but next we should get back to some game events :)
> 
> Thanks as ever to my pal bushviper for beta-ing this for me! She is the greatest :) 
> 
> And thank to all of you for reading! I appreciate every comment and kudo :)


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